Out of the Ashes
by whoson1st
Summary: Rose Tyler is used to being alone, having learned the hard way that, eventually, everyone disappears. After losing the one person she dared to believe wouldn't leave her, she stops trying to believe that anything will last. She's determined that no one will hurt her or her son again. AU, all human.
1. Prologue

_**So, apparently I'm suffering from a slight case of WIP ADD. I have the next chapter of Just a Bit Unlikely off to BetaBabe, but this also happened. So now I'll be doing both for a little while. I don't usually do AUs like this, but...I needed a change of pace. So yeah. Enjoy.**_

* * *

Rose Tyler was someone that got left behind. It was just a fact of her existence. They didn't always want or mean to (in the case of her parents, her father dying when she was six months old, her mother when she was sixteen). Sometimes she didn't even factor into their decision (such as the boyfriends her mother had when she was still alive, the ones that Rose had grown close to and then disappeared on her). Still other times it was a sort of casual drift toward the inevitable (like the myriad of friends and acquaintances that moved or went off to university and found new, better friends). There were, of course, the occasions when it was deliberate, and hurtful, like Jimmy Stone, but it all came down to the same thing…Rose Tyler, on her own. In her darker moments, she believed what he had said, that she wasn't worth anyone's time in the long run.

Despite this, at nineteen, she was a cheerful, warm person. She worked in a coffee shop to make ends meet, and drifted between dreams du jour…some days, she wanted to travel the globe…others, she wanted to be a painter, or a writer. It was then that she met John Smith, a history professor at the local university.

Despite the fact that he was easily twice her age, the two fell into an effortless friendship when he started frequenting the coffee house. It might have had something to do with the shared feelings of loneliness…he'd lost his parents at a young age to a house fire, and had spent much of his childhood shunted between relatives, making him self-reliant to a fault. Most people found him gruff and terse, but Rose liked his no-nonsense attitude and his sarcastic sense of humor, and the way he treated everyone the same. And, for his part, he seemed to genuinely enjoy her company when she'd taken to sitting with him during slow hours and breaks, listening as he rambled on about the myriad of subjects his intelligent and magpie mind had collected information on.

One night, a few weeks after they'd met, Rose was closing on her own. It wasn't unusual; she closed on her own two or three times a week, and while it wasn't the safest neighborhood, it wasn't the worst, and she'd been so far free of incident. But on this particular evening, a couple of thugs were waiting for her in the alley behind the shop. She only managed to scream once when a dark shadow loomed over them and threw them to the other side of the alley. Then a large hand was in hers, and she was looking into a pair of familiar blue eyes as a gruff, northern voice whispered, "Run."

After that, John started driving Rose home on her closing shifts. More often than not, they'd get caught up in their conversation, and he'd leave his car parked in front of her flat for an hour as they talked about everything and nothing. They even got into arguments more than once, both being stubborn in their opinions, and the night would end with her exiting his car in a huff, slamming the door behind her an instant before he pealed out of the car park, tires squealing.

The first time it happened, she was still annoyed the next day, but worried that she'd lost something. But then he'd shown up at the coffee shop and slid a box of chocolates over the counter towards her before sauntering over to his usual table, winking at her when he saw her staring at him. She mumbled her own apology when she brought him his tea, but he merely nodded his acknowledgement…and it was over. And that's how it went the next three times their temper overpowered their sense…a box of chocolate, a murmured apology, and the fight was over, never having been worth more than that in the first place.

It was during one of the long car conversations that she'd admitted her love of Monet; she was stunned two days later when he pushed a ticket for an upcoming exhibit toward her as she refilled his tea. He looked slightly uncomfortable when she looked at him questioningly, saying quickly that she didn't have to come if she had other plans, but had smiled and let out a happy "Fantastic!" when she grinned and said she'd love to go.

They'd spent the day arm in arm, poring over the beautiful works of art and delighting in each other's company. As the sun set, they were still reluctant to part, stopping at Rose's favorite chippy for some dinner before wandering through a park for hours, their hands linked as John pointed out various constellations in the night sky. By the time he finally drove her home, she was exhausted, but completely content. He'd kept hold of her hand while he'd driven, then, just before she got out of the car, he ran his thumb over the back of her hand and told her how glad he was that he'd met her.

It was after that outing that things started getting strange, though. Because that was when Rose realized that the way she felt about John wasn't strictly friendly…and that was when John suddenly seemed extremely busy. He didn't come by the shop as often, and while he still made sure he was available to give her lifts home at night, he rarely stayed to chat. There were still times when she'd sit with him in the coffee shop, and things would seem almost normal, except for a slight electric tingling between them, but every time she worked up the courage to try to say something about it, he'd suddenly have a reason to dash off again.

Rose couldn't help feeling like it was her fault. Obviously, a forty year old man who'd admitted more than once that he wasn't one for domestics would have no use for a lovesick nineteen year old hanging around. He was obviously trying to give her the brush off nicely, and would eventually go the way of everyone else. She was at a loss of how to stave off the coming rejection, but even when she tried to keep things light, he'd look at her with those penetrating blue eyes and she'd feel caught out like the kid he probably saw her as. She couldn't help it.

She was in love with John Smith. And John Smith wanted nothing to do with it.

oOoOo

Rose smiled and waved at Shereen on the dance floor before knocking back the rest of her gin and soda, letting an ice cube fall into her mouth as she set the empty tumbler back on the bar top. It had been almost a week since John had made an appearance, and the look on his face when he'd told her to take care of herself as she got out of his car had nearly crushed her right there. She spent a couple of days in denial, almost thinking she saw his car in the darkness when she closed. But the car was off, and if there was someone in it, they never made an appearance. She spent the next few days in acute pain before her friend had dragged her to the pub, claiming that all she needed was a good night out and an easy shag. While the latter had never appealed to Rose, it did feel good to be somewhere that didn't make her think of the absent history professor.

"Can I buy you a drink?" an American voice asked, and she looked up to see a tall man giving her a charming, dimpled smile. She glanced down at her empty glass, and he followed her gaze. "Another one?"

"Will you expect me to go home with you?" she asked bluntly.

"Expect?" he asked. "No. Hope, probably, but not expect. A lady deserves to have a drink free of stipulation."

"In that case," she said, chuckling as she waved at her glass.

The man signaled the bartender and placed a quick order, then held his hand out to her. "Jack Harkness."

"Rose Tyler," she said, shaking his hand.

"So, tell me, Rose," he said as the bartender brought their drinks. "What's someone as lovely as you doing alone at a bar on a night like this?"

"Do you realize that your pickup lines are from the forties?" she asked, sipping her drink.

"I do," he said. "They're classics. _You _haven't answered my question."

"Because the person I want doesn't want to be here with me," she blurted out, then looked up at Jack sharply. "I'm sorry, you don't need to hear about that."

"That's okay," he said, smiling again and shrugging. "Who's the guy? Or girl, as the case may be?"

"Really, it doesn't matter," Rose said, shaking her head.

"Humor me," he said, sitting down properly and turning to her.

She hesitated, but he only raised his eyebrows encouragingly, and she sighed. "It's this…man I know. He's…well…he's sort of…" she trailed off and sighed. "Sort of wonderful. But…I dunno. Sometimes, I think there's something there, when we talk, and sometimes the way he looks at me…but then it's gone. Now I haven't seen him at all in a few days…" She sighed again and took another long drink. "Probably all my imagination anyway."

"Why would you think that?" Jack asked.

"I'm too young for him," she said with a shrug. "He's a history professor…he's got students older than me. He probably just thinks I'm a kid. It's just…"

"Just…" Jack urged, giving her an odd look.

"When I'm with him, I don't feel like a kid," she said. "It doesn't feel like a twenty year age gap. It just feels like…like John and Rose," she finished with a shrug, not sure how to explain herself.

"John and Rose," Jack said slowly. "Tell me, this wonderful professor of yours, his name wouldn't happen to be John Smith, would it?" Rose looked up at him sharply, and he laughed, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling. "It is, isn't it? You're her. You're the coffee shop girl."

"You know John?" she asked, stunned.

"Oh, yeah," Jack said. "We go way back. Good friend of mine, although he'd probably say he tolerates me. Wow, he said you were gorgeous, but…wow."

"He…he talks about me?" Rose stammered, still trying to cope with this new development.

"Talks about you?" Jack snorted. "Won't shut up. And let me tell you…he doesn't think you're a kid. No, he thinks you're, in his words, 'fantastic.' Oooh…speak of the devil," he added, looking behind her.

Rose turned, following his gaze, and saw John walking toward them. She winced when he paused midstep upon seeing her, turning quickly back to her drink as he approached more slowly.

"Rose?" he asked. "What are you doing here?"

"Hiya, John," Jack said cheerfully.

"Yeah, hi," John said, nodding at him. "Rose?"

"Just out for a drink with a friend," Rose said, turning to him with a bright—if slightly brittle—smile.

"And…and you know Jack?" he asked slowly, glancing between them, zeroing in on the way their knees touched as they faced each other.

"Just met him," Rose said. "He bought me a drink."

"I'm sure he did," John said, annoyance giving an edge to his tone.

"Hey, I didn't know she was your Rose," said Jack, raising his hands. "You never even told me her name."

"She's not…my Rose," John said moodily.

"Well, in that case," Jack said. "Rose, would you care to dance?"

"I…" She glanced up at John, who was looking determinedly at the top shelf bottles while a muscle worked in his jaw. What the hell. Her happy friendship with the professor was clearly over. "Yeah, alright," she said, taking Jack's hand and letting him lead her to the dance floor.

"You have to understand," Jack said as he took her in his arms. "John doesn't fall in love. He doesn't do the dating and dancing."

"Yeah, I've noticed," she said. "Like he says, he—"

"Doesn't do domestics," they said in unison, and smirked at each other.

"Right, but that's the thing," Jack said. "He doesn't know how to be in love, much less how to recognize when someone's in love with him. But don't let that fool you. He's been falling hard for you since the day he met you. I think your little museum excursion was what tipped him over the edge. He just needs a little push to show his hand is all."

"And you know all this because?" Rose asked.

"Because I'm probably his best friend," Jack said, glancing to the side and then grinning down at her. "But his eyes are shooting _daggers_ at me right now."

Realization dawned on her at the same time that John appeared at their side and tapped on Jack's shoulder.

"I think this is my dance," he said.

"Of course," Jack said, winking at Rose. "I'll just be…over here."

He wandered back towards the bar, and Rose lost sight of him as John put a hand on her waist. He took her hand in his free one, bringing it to his chest as he looked down at her, swaying to the music.

"I don't dance much," he explained softly.

"Not as much as Jack?" she asked, giving him a teasing, tongue touched grin.

"_No one_ dances as much as Jack," he said, rolling his eyes, then smiling when she laughed.

"Dunno, you're doing alright," she said hesitantly.

"I shouldn't be," he said, suddenly serious. "I shouldn't be dancing with you at all."

"What if I want to dance with you?" she asked, stretching his metaphor.

"You deserve better," he said. "I'm…too old, too stuck in my ways."

"But I want you," she said softly, looking up at him earnestly. "Whatever you think I deserve, it doesn't matter, cause I'll still want you."

He stopped moving then, his eyes lit with some internal struggle as he gazed down at her. Her breath caught when his eyes dropped to her mouth, and he murmured her name before bending his head and pressing his lips to hers, drawing her closer as she melted into his kiss.

oOoOo

Three months later, just after her twentieth birthday, he asked her to marry him. Although they'd only known each other a total of six months, he reasoned that he'd waited long enough for her to be in his life, and even longer debating whether he could allow it. With that in mind, they had a simple ceremony three months after that. Jack was best man, of course, and claimed all credit for the happy union during his speech at the reception. Bride and groom both rolled their eyes heavily at this, but John did hold his glass up in acknowledgement as he pulled Rose closer.

With John's encouragement, she'd even gone back to school, enrolled in a graphics design course. It had to be put on hold, however, when she found out she was pregnant, barely six months after they'd gotten married. She'd been terrified, at first, that this would be far too much in the way of domestics for John, but he'd surprised her, beaming and scooping her into his arms, spinning her around in his excitement.

It was two years to the day since they'd met that they welcomed Ian Thomas Smith into the world. Rose said that he had his father's eyes, stubbornly keeping to this regardless of how many people told her that all babies were born with blue eyes. John had simply smiled and said he was just glad Ian hadn't inherited his ears or nose, lightly kissing Rose's nose to make his point.

Another year passed. Ian was toddling around and already showing signs of having his father's ridiculously high intelligence. John was devoted to his little family, spending every minute he could with his growing boy and young wife. He and Rose still had their moments of temper and annoyance, as all couples do, but it never lasted long, and they always worked through it in the end. That was the important bit.

Then came the winter, and the ice. Then came the car, and John pushing Rose and Ian to safety, but not quite making it himself. Then came the blood as she cradled his head, begging him not to die, while Ian tugged ineffectually at John's hand, not understanding why his energetic father wouldn't get up. Then came her name, carried on John's last breath as he died in her arms.

And it was on a cold day in the beginning of the year, as Rose watched the casket holding the body of John Smith being lowered into the ground, that Rose remembered the fundamental fact of her existence. She was someone that got left behind. What was more, every one that disappeared took a bit of her with them…and now, she had nothing left.


	2. A Noble Man

_Five years later._

Rose bit her lip and tilted her head to the side, examining the graphic on her screen critically. She dimly registered the office phone ringing, but didn't look up as she wrinkled her nose, adjusting the font for the eighteenth time. Sometimes, these little promotional bits came in a flurry of inspiration…sometimes, like now, they absolutely refused to behave. She still had three others to do before the end of the day, something she was trying very hard not to think about, but without much success. She liked quoting Douglas Adams at Sarah Jane when she got behind: "I love deadlines…I love the whooshing sound they make when they fly by."

Her boss usually smiled at this; however, the clients did not, so Rose did her best to stay focused. This proved impossible, though, when the receptionist buzzed her phone.

"Rose?" the girl said hesitantly, and Rose looked over at the phone with trepidation. "It's…it's Mr. Saunders. About Ian. He sounds…unhappy."

"Mister Saunders is always unhappy," Rose said with a sigh. "Thanks, Carol."

She stared at the phone a minute longer, biting her nail. Maybe if she didn't answer he'd just…stop being angry. Since that rarely worked, she took a deep breath, steeling herself as she picked up the phone.

"This is Rose," she said, in her most adult and professional voice.

"Miss Smith, we have a very grave problem," said a snooty voice on the other end of the line, and Rose winced.

"And…what would that be?" Rose asked, rubbing her temple to ward off the headache she could already feel coming.

"Your son decided that my lesson wasn't interesting enough," he snapped. "And instead snuck off to play chess with some vagrant in the park."

"Vagrant?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Yes, and a very insulting one at that," Mister Saunders continued. "And he's cultivated an extremely disrespectful attitude in your son as well."

"What, all in one game of chess?" Rose asked before she could stop herself. "Quite the _productive _vagrant."

"Miss Smith!" Mister Saunders cried. "I will not be insulted in this fashion. I've told you before of your son's blatant disregard for me or for the lessons I set for him, and you obviously have no means of controlling his behavior. Given your own upbringing, this is hardly a surprise, but I did think when you hired me that you wanted more for your son, despite his unfortunate circumstances. Perhaps if his father was around—"

"Chances are, his father would have throttled you for insinuating that a six year old is less worthy of your time because of his 'unfortunate circumstances'," Rose said coldly.

"I'd hardly expect less from someone of your ilk," Mister Saunders sneered, and Rose bit her fist to keep from screaming in frustration. "Be that as it may, it will hardly be necessary. I quit."

"I'll be there in twenty minutes," Rose said tersely, and slammed the phone down.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. As he'd himself pointed out, this wasn't the first time she'd had a problem with the tutor, so there was a large part of her saying good riddance to the headache. The timing, however, was less than ideal. She couldn't leave…these projects needed to get done, and her overly inquisitive son, while an absolute delight in her life, made working at home difficult even under the best circumstances. And although Sarah Jane would undoubtedly be kind, she didn't want to bring her problems at home to work. She chewed a nail for a second, staring at the phone, then grabbed it and dialed quickly before she could change her mind.

"Hey, doll," a voice said, picking up on the second ring. "How's life?"

"Hey, Jack," she said, not quite succeeding in keeping the weariness out of her voice.

"Uh oh," Jack murmured. "I know that tone. Saunders raising a stink again?"

"You know me too well," said Rose with a little chuckle.

"I told you, you should have fired that guy weeks ago," Jack said.

"Well, it seems that will no longer be a problem," Rose informed him. "He just quit. That's…sort of why I'm calling. I'm really, really sorry, but I've got these projects, and I can't get away, and there's no one else—"

"And you need someone to hang out with the little guy for the afternoon?" Jack asked. "Rose, you know you never have to be sorry about that. I've told you before, I'll be here for you. Whatever you need."

"Thanks, Jack," she said in a small voice.

"No problem," he said easily. "Besides, he's like a team mascot around here. Everyone loves him. But anyway, I'm on my way out the door now, and I'll take him out for lunch…give me a call later when you want me to drop him off."

"Will do," she said. "Thank you so much. Seriously. I'll pay you back for lunch."

"Stop it," he admonished. "Just worry about you, Rosie. I'll see you later."

He clicked off, and Rose shook her head as she replaced the handset on the cradle. She sent a silent thanks to the universe for the existence of Jack Harkness before returning her focus to the screen, determined to finish her projects and retrieve her son as soon as possible.

oOoOo

Jack drove to Rose's flat in a state of acute annoyance. Not because he was spending the afternoon with Ian, obviously, but because of the reason why. He'd had an issue with Saunders and his attitude since they'd met two months ago, and his dislike had been ratcheting higher with every instance of arrogance and condescension since. Rose and Ian had it hard enough without someone making them feel worse because of assumptions that were completely wrong. She never bothered to correct anyone—she said it didn't matter, but while she rarely let her feelings show anymore, he knew it still hurt her.

He took a breath as he parked his car, steadying himself before he faced Saunders. Whatever he'd said to Rose had left her sounding drained, a sure sign of anger and pain that she wasn't letting out. If he didn't relax before facing the tutor, Jack was certain he'd deck him. He took another deep breath, then let himself out of the car, jogging up the steps to her flat.

"Uncle Jack!" a happy voice cried as he let himself into the flat, and he bent down to catch the small blonde torpedo that had launched itself at him. Jack picked the boy up upside down, eliciting a storm of giggles before righting him on his hip. "I learned a new way to play chess today."

"Oh yeah?" Jack asked. "How's that?"

"It's called la resistance, and its where all the pawns get together and gang up on all the other pieces," he explained, then frowned. "I don't think it's officially sanctioned gameplay, though."

"I don't think so," Jack said, smiling. "Nice thought, though."

"Oh, yes, of course, encourage the behavior," Saunders said snidely, coming around the corner.

"It's a creative way to play chess," Jack said. "It's not like he's staging a coup."

"Yes, well, the…individual who taught him this 'creative play'," Saunders said with exaggerated air quotes, "is the same one who taught him some rather explicit language."

"Oh really?" Jack asked, arching an eyebrow and looking down at Ian. "Care to share?"

The boy's face turned red, but there was a flash in his blue eyes very reminiscent of his father as he said, "Why don't you tell him what you said first, Mister Saunders?"

"Young man, that is highly disrespectful!" Saunders said in a shocked tone as Jack's eyes flew to him.

"I'm six," Ian said practically. "What's your excuse?"

"I beg your pardon!" Saunders exclaimed. "I have never met such a rude little boy."

"What did you say?" Jack asked in a low voice.

"I'm sorry?"

"What. Did you. Say?" Jack repeated slowly.

"I hardly think it matters," Saunders said, drawing himself up haughtily. "It in no way excuses such flagrant disrespect of this child's elders."

"He called Mummy a stupid chav," Ian offered, and Jack's grip tightened as his eyes narrowed.

"That is no excuse for calling your tutor a…a prick!" Saunders sputtered.

"Like he said," Jack said, putting Ian down and standing to his full height in front of Saunders. "He's six. And you insulted his mom. Who is paying you to teach him, not insult him and his family. I think you should leave now."

"I trust you have my final pay," Saunders said, his voice only shaking a little.

"I do not," Jack said. "And you won't be getting it. If you try to contact Rose for _any _sort of compensation, we'll be having words. 'Prick' will be the least of your worries at that point."

"It's really no wonder he acts the way he does," Saunders said, picking up his briefcase.

"In defense of his mother?" Jack asked. "Nah, not really a surprise. You're just lucky his dad's gone, or then you _really _would have seen angry. What I'm trying to figure out is what the hell you're still doing here."

Saunders made a disgusted noise and strode past him out the door. Jack followed, shaking his head as he closed the door behind the man. Then he turned to Ian, waiting in the hall and picking at his nails nervously, but standing quickly to attention when he saw Jack watching him.

"You alright, kid?" he asked.

"Is Mummy very mad?" Ian asked hesitantly, rather than answering.

"Not as mad as she's going to be," Jack muttered, then crouched in front of the boy. "But not at you. You didn't do anything wrong. Well, maybe try not to use that word…but otherwise…your dad would've been proud of you, sticking up for your mom like that."

"My friend said more," Ian said, a little frown appearing between his eyes. "But Mister Saunders said we shouldn't listen to transistors."

"Pretty sure it was transients," Jack said, smiling as he stood to grab Ian's coat from the peg by the door, his brain automatically shifting gears around Ian's inconsistent vocabulary.

"Yeah," Ian said, letting Jack help him into his coat. "What's that mean?"

"Means drifter, homeless," Jack said, zipping his coat.

"That's not right, then," Ian said confidently. "My friend's not a trans—transient. He's a noble."

"Oh yeah?" Jack asked, his lips twitching as they left the flat and paused to lock the door behind them.

"Yeah, he said so," said Ian as Jack took his hand and they walked down the stairs. "That's his name. James Noble."

Jack nearly broke an ankle tripping on a step, then looked down at the boy sharply. "James Noble, huh?" He whistled as they reached the car park. "That…is interesting. Ian, go ahead and get in your seat, kay?" he said, opening the back passenger side door for him. "I'm just gonna make a quick phone call."

"Kay," Ian said, crawling into the car. "Then lunch?"

"Then lunch," Jack said, pulling out his phone and dialing as he walked a few steps away. He put it to his ear as he turned, watching Ian buckling himself in as it rang.

"Jackie-boy!" said an exuberant voice on the other end after the fourth ring. "I was gonna call you."

"I'll be damned," Jack said with a laugh. "When did you get back into town?"

"Yesterday," James informed him. "How'd you know?"

"Psychic," Jack said with a grin. "But it seems we've also got a mutual friend."

"Oh yeah?" James asked. "Who's that?"

"Meet me for lunch and I'll tell you," Jack said. "How's Italian sound?"

"Molto bene," James said. "Ten minutes?"

"Eh, make it fifteen," Jack said, then hung up and walked back to the car. "Alright, kid, pasta and pizza sound like a plan?"

oOoOo

"Your taste in friends has significantly improved since the last time I saw you," James remarked, arching an eyebrow as Jack and Ian entered the waiting area of the restaurant. "Not in height, mind…but definitely in quality."

"Not gonna argue," Jack said with a smile.

"James!" Ian cried happily. "Are you gonna have pizza and pasta with us?"

"I sincerely hope so," James said with a smile, crouching to be closer to eye level with the boy. "Although this is assuming that your Mister Saunders will _not _be joining us."

"He quit," Ian said, wrinkling his nose, and James flashed a look to Jack, who nodded. "How do you know Uncle Jack?"

"Oh…known him for years," James replied, flipping topics with ease. "Before he even was Uncle Jack."

"Then how come I've never met you?" Ian asked suspiciously.

"Just unlucky, I suppose," James said with a shrug. "The loss is definitely mine."

"Well, yeah," Ian said frankly, and James burst out laughing.

The hostess chose that moment to collect them, and Jack watched with interest as Ian took James' hand and practically dragged him to the table, taking as a matter of course that they would be sitting next to each other.

"So, where are you coming from this time, Jamie?" asked Jack, smiling when James frowned at the nickname.

"India," he said, deciding not to rise to the bait.

"You were in India?" Ian asked, his eyes wide. "Did you ride a efalent?"

"No elephants this time, I'm afraid," James said with a smile. "Although I have. A bit like riding a moving table. This time, though, I was teaching English."

"Didn't you do that in Thailand, too?" Jack asked.

"Yep," he replied. "Until you got me kicked out. Maybe when you're older, Uncle Jack can tell you why neither of us can ever go back to Bangkok," he added to Ian, arching an eyebrow.

"Hey, that was not…entirely my fault," Jack said. "You're the one who decided to play bartender."

"You're the one who spiked the drinks," James countered as the waitress walked up, setting down waters for them.

"Um, hullo," she said uncertainly. "I'm Jessica."

"Hi, Jessica," Jack said, flashing a grin at her. "Jack Harkness."

"Stop it," James said, reaching for his water and taking a quick drink.

"I was just saying hello," Jack said.

"Uh huh," James said, arching an eyebrow.

"Anyway," Jack said pointedly, turning back to the waitress and ordering the pizza and family size spaghetti and meat sauce, ignoring James' smirk.

"Have you been to Italy?" Ian asked as the waitress moved off.

"Yeah," James said with a nod, putting his water back down. "That was…oh…ten years ago?"

"Did you have pizza?" he asked.

"Uh huh, but it's not like the pizza here," James explained. "It's very, very thin, and can have a lot of really strange toppings, like scallops and things, or even no toppings, just sauce and maybe some spices."

Ian looked thoughtful, then said, "I think I like our pizza better."

"It is good here," James laughed, leaning forward on his elbows.

"Did you go to Venice?" Ian asked. "I saw it in one of my dad's books. Did you drive a gonzola?"

"I have been to Venice, but I didn't drive a gondola," James said, and Jack smiled at the way the other man once again managed to smoothly correct the boy without actually making mention of the mistake. "I did _ride_ in one, though…_and _I got sick. It wasn't pretty. The city is beautiful, though."

"Have you been _everywhere_?" Ian asked.

"Not yet," James said, grinning at him.

Ian continued to pepper James with questions even after the food arrived, clearly already worshipping the ground he walked on. For his part, James answered all of his questions, and often had the boy in giggles with some of his more outlandish tales, including one involving being treed by a tiger. Between stories, James asked questions of his own about places that Ian knew about or wanted to go. Once or twice, Jack saw a flash of residual annoyance in James' eyes when a sentence started with "Mister Saunders says…", making him more intent than ever on finding out exactly what had transpired between "the transient" and the tutor.

"Alright, kiddo," Jack said as they finished lunch, James insisting on paying the bill. "Time for us to go."

"Do we _have _to go to Torchwood?" Ian pouted.

"'Fraid so," Jack said, helping him back into his coat. "I have to at least pretend I'm earning my salary. Besides, Tosh and Gwen would have my neck if I don't make an appearance with you…and I'm pretty sure they bought cookies."

"Oh," Ian said, smiling. "That's alright then."

"When in doubt, use bribery," James murmured, shrugging into his own jacket.

"Hey, don't knock it," Jack said. "You have any plans this afternoon? I've got a couple of things I wanted to talk to you about."

"I'm sure you do," James said, arching an eyebrow and glancing down at Ian as he swung his keys around on his finger. "I guess I could make a stop at Torchwood."

"You're coming too?" Ian asked, bouncing in excitement. "Uncle Jack, can I ride with James?"

"Sorry, kid," Jack said. "Your seat's in my car, and your mom would cheerfully murder me if she found out I let you get into someone else's car without it."

Ian's nose wrinkled unhappily, and James reached down to ruffle his hair. "It's alright…Torchwood's only ten minutes away. Be there in no time."

"I guess," Ian said, letting out a long-suffering sigh.

Jack shared a grin with James before they headed out the door toward their respective vehicles. Jack got Ian in the car and drove toward the tech company he worked at thoughtfully, an idea forming in his mind as the little boy continued to chatter on about his new friend.

He was going to have to ask James how long he was staying in town.


	3. Introductions and Altercations

_**Kay, really need to work on Just a Bit Unlikely now. This one just won't leave me alone.**_

* * *

James pulled the seldom used Torchwood access card out of his wallet as he walked toward the corporate skyscraper, heading for a less conspicuous side entrance that was close to the lifts. He would count it as a good day if he could keep knowledge of his presence in the building limited to Jack's team. He knew Yvonne Hartman, the current CEO, meant well, but he always felt uncomfortably like a prisoner when he was around her.

He let out a breath when he made it to Jack's suite of offices without incident, smiling when Tosh let out a happy shout and ran to hug him.

"Jack just texted that he was on his way up," she said as she pulled away. "He didn't say you were coming too."

"Well, how could I come into town and not pay a visit to my favorite geek squad?" he asked.

"The same way you did two years ago," Gwen said drily as she came up to claim her own hug. "It's good to see you, James."

"You too," he said, embracing her tightly. "And that…was special circumstances," he added as he stepped back.

"Yeah, I know," Gwen said, sympathy and concern on her face. "How's your family doing?"

"They're alright," he said with a shrug, not wanting to delve into the reasons for his last visit home, or the arguments that caused his abrupt departure.

"Oh, lovely," said a snide voice from the lab doorway. "If it isn't the almighty Doctor."

"Owen," James said evenly, arching an eyebrow at the tech. "Always a pleasure."

"Ignore him," Jack said from behind him, and James stepped to the side to let him and Ian through. "He's just mad that he can't beat you in looks or brains."

Owen snorted, but Tosh eyed the tech critically. "Dunno…he's not so bad."

"Thank you, Tosh," Owen said with a smirk. "At least some people have taste."

"Or they've been quietly, desperately, and inexplicably in love with an idiot for years," another voice murmured, and James grinned as he turned to face Ianto, who already had two steaming mugs of tea ready for him and Jack. "Nice to see you, James."

"And you," he said, taking one of the mugs and sipping it before making an appreciative noise. "Dunno how you do it, Ianto. Better than all the tea in China."

"Because I'm British, obviously," Ianto deadpanned, and James beamed at him.

"Kay, little man," Jack said, having helped Ian out of his coat already. "I need to talk to James for a little bit, so can you handle hanging out with Gwen and Tosh for a little while?"

"That depends," Ian said slowly. "I was promised cookies."

James choked on his tea as Gwen stepped closer to the boy. "You got lucky. I have fresh cookies in my office, _and _a new book about dinosaurs."

"What era?" he asked.

"I have no idea," the welsh woman replied, unphased and still smiling. "But the cookies are peanut butter."

"That's alright then," Ian said, beaming at her and taking her hand, pulling her toward her office.

James chuckled, then followed Jack to his own office. Jack sat down behind his desk as James closed the door, then settled into one of the chairs in front of Jack's desk, resting an ankle on his opposite knee and taking another sip of tea.

"You've made a new best friend," Jack commented, leaning back and playing with a pen.

"I could do worse," James said with a shrug, then looked at his friend seriously. "Who is he, Jack? Never knew you to hang out with kids on purpose…no matter how cool they are."

"You remember John Smith?" Jack asked. "You met him a couple of times."

"The history professor?" James asked in surprise. "Yeah, I liked him. Ooohh…" He trailed off, remembering Jack mentioning the death of his friend several years back. He looked out the office window thoughtfully, a muscle working in his jaw as he gripped his ankle, his residual anger from earlier burning again. "That bloody arsehole," he muttered.

"I'm going to assume that you're no longer talking about John," Jack said.

"No, that…tutor," he said, spitting out the last word as he jumped up, setting his tea down on the desk and starting to pace. "It's bad enough," he went on, a hand running through his hair, "to say…utterly stupid and cruel things to a _child_, but when the basis for those things isn't even _true—_" He stopped, swallowing hard.

Jack looked at him for a long moment, then leaned forward and rested his arms on the desk. "What exactly happened?"

James sighed, running a hand down his face. "I was just wandering, honestly. But then this kid—Ian—was there, at one of those chess boards they have set up in the park, and he was asking me how the knights move…"

oOoOo

"Knights move in an 'L'," James replied, looking at the boy, who frowned and turned back to the board.

"Do they _always _move like that?" he asked.

"They have as long as I've been playing chess," James said with a shrug.

"That's silly," the boy said.

"Well…" James said slowly, approaching and sitting across from him. "If the rules don't make sense…change them."

"Like how?" the boy asked, looking up at him with startling blue eyes.

"Oh, there's always a way," James said, reaching forward and rearranging the pieces back into the beginning formation. "I'm James, by the way. James Noble."

"I'm Ian Smith," the boy said, watching with interest.

"So, Ian, let's say…we've got these pawns, right?" he said, gesturing to them. "And they're basically there…well, to be pawns. It's the kings and the queens and the bishops and the knights that are the power pieces, and the pawns are basically there to get taken in their place. They might take a piece or two, but their basic purpose is to get taken. Right?"

"Right," Ian said, leaning forward.

"Okay, and they can only move one square, right?" he asked, pushing a white pawn forward.

"Except on the first move," Ian said.

"Exactly," James said, pushing it forward another square. "But, so can the other side. So," he continued, pushing the black counterpart toward the white one. "If they were to meet, and, say, _realize _that they're basically there to die for no other reason than because a king doesn't want to…well, that might change the rules. Because at some point…a pawn gets tired of being a pawn…and they realize that there's a lot more of them than there are kings and queens," he went on, moving pieces around.

"And they can tell that to the knights and bishops too," Ian said, tentatively pushing a knight forward. "Because then they can all live together without the kings and queens telling them to fight each other."

"Viva la resistance," James said, beaming at him. "Out of curiosity, Ian, shouldn't there be an adult…somewhere?"

"Mister Saunders is over there," Ian said, waving vaguely at a group of trees with one hand, resting his chin in the other as he continued to look at the board. "He's learning about trees."

James' eyes narrowed, and his gaze drifted to the side for a second. "_He's_ learning about trees?"

"Well, I suppose I'm supposed to be learning about trees," Ian said thoughtfully. "But he's a lot more interested in it than I am, so I figured I'd just leave him to it."

"I'm sure he has the best intentions," James offered, his lips twitching.

"He says I'm disrespectful," Ian admitted, looking up at him. "Do you think I'm disrespectful?"

"You don't seem that way to me," James said honestly. "Why's he think that?"

"He doesn't like me," Ian said with a sigh, looking back down at the board. "He says I'm just an estate brat."

"I say he's just a prick," James said before he could stop himself, and looked up sharply when Ian giggled. "I…I shouldn't have said that. Don't say that."

"_Ian!"_ a voice shouted behind James before he could say anything else, and he turned to see a short, skinny man rushing toward them. "Get away from that man right now! What do you think you're playing at, sneaking off like that?"

"Oh, I'm sure he didn't mean any harm," James said, turning in his seat.

"I fail to see how any of this is your business," the man snapped, and James' eyebrows shot up as the tutor looked him up and down. "Exactly what is your place in this? Preying on young boys in the park?"

"Leave him alone," Ian said, slipping off his seat to stand in front of Saunders. "He's my friend."

"'Friend'," the man sneered, taking the boy's arm roughly. "Regardless, this display of insubordination is inexcusable. There are rules in polite society, young man; respecting your elders is one of them."

"When the rules don't make sense, you should change them," Ian said stubbornly, pulling his arm from the tutor's grasp.

"Oh, you would think so," the little man said in a nasty tone. "What else would that stupid chav teach her bastard son?"

"Prick," Ian said as James shot to his feet, anger boiling in him in the face of the tutor's blatant cruelty.

"I beg your pardon!" Saunders cried, shocked.

"I think Ian's got it right, Mister Saunders," James said in a low voice.

"Once again, I don't need the input of some idiot this little mongrel stumbled upon," Saunders snapped.

"I disagree," said James, his hands tightening at his sides. "Because simply being an adult doesn't _entitle _you to respect, and insulting a child and his mother certainly doesn't _earn _you any. And I don't give a damn where he came from, or who his mother is, if you honestly believe that you can act like such an arrogant, classist arse and still garner _anyone's _respect, much less his, you're sorely mistaken. Frankly, given what _I've _seen of this boy, his mother must be an amazing woman, because not only has she evidently managed to raise him on her own, but she's been able to do so despite your apparent best efforts to make him believe that either of them are in any way less than you."

"I will not stand for this," Saunders said, taking Ian's arm again. "Come on, Ian. We're going home. And you can bet that your mother will be hearing about this."

"Good, you can tell her that she's hired an incompetent tosser who's insulting her while on her pay," James retorted, then crouched down next to Ian, who was watching him with wide eyes. "And if he_ doesn't_ tell her, you be sure to," he continued in a softer voice. "Because you both deserve better…don't let anyone like him tell you different, alright?"

"Alright," Ian said in a small voice.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Ian Smith," he said, reaching forward and squeezing the little boy's arm. "You take care."

He shot another dark look at Saunders as he straightened, then turned and stalked off into the woods.

oOoOo

"Wow," Jack said, shaking his head slowly as James finished talking. "I don't think 'prick' covers it."

"Yeah," James said, running his hands through his hair again. "I don't get it, Jack. I mean, I get that there's…unsavory people in the world, but why treat Ian and his mum like that? It's not like being a single mum is _that_ outlandish a notion anymore, and even so..."

Jack sighed. "Because she _does_ live on a council estate, and because she's young…and looks younger."

"Hold on," James said, frowning as he stopped his pacing, spinning toward Jack. "John Smith was in his late thirties at _least_."

"Yeah," Jack said, smiling. "But he married a twenty year old when he was forty."

James buried his hands in his pockets, staring into the middle distance and whistling. "Well done, John. Still…that's no reason to act like that, especially to a little boy," he added, looking back at Jack.

"You're not going to get any argument from me," Jack said, shaking his head. "I'm glad he's gone…even more so now." He sighed, leaning back in his chair again. "So what about you, James? How is it being home…aside from accidental altercations with strangers in the park."

"Oh…you know," James said, shrugging as he walked back to the chair and sat down. He slouched down in it, kicking his feet up on Jack's desk, ignoring the arched brow that Jack made. "Being home is always far better when I'm not actually _at _home."

"Any improvement over last time?" Jack asked.

"Well," James said, drawing out the word as he tilted his head. "No one's actually yelled, and we haven't had any funerals…but I've only been home a day, so there's still time."

"How long are you staying?" Jack asked, playing with his pen again.

"Eh, not sure," James said, reaching up a hand to scratch the back of his head. "Donna and Granddad might actually lock me in a room if I try to leave too soon, so probably a couple of weeks, at least. Providing Mum and I don't actually try to kill each other in that time, mind," he added, tugging on his ear.

"Of course," Jack said with a chuckle. "What're you going to do while you're here?"

"I don't know," James said, lacing his fingers together over his stomach and staring at the ceiling, genuinely baffled. "I suppose I could always ask Yvonne if she needs help with anything in R&D."

"Don't," Jack warned. "She'll never let you leave."

"Too right," said James, looking back at Jack. "What about you lot? How's that security software holding up?"

"I'm sure it's probably due for a patch from the Doctor," Jack said with a smile, and James rolled his eyes.

"I'm gonna need your computer," said James, pulling a pair of glasses out of his jacket as he stood before shrugging out of it and draping it over the chair.

"All yours," Jack said, shuffling together some paperwork that had been demanding his attention and pushing away from the desk to let James work his technological magic.

oOoOo

Three hours later, Jack looked up from his paperwork as James stood and stretched.

"Done?"

"Yeah," James said, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. "That should cover some of the new things that have come along, and a few holes you've developed."

"You are a technological god among men," Jack said, standing and tossing the paperwork on the desk as James stepped around it and pulled his jacket from the chair.

"I'd make a bad god," James said, shrugging into his jacket and slipping his glasses back into the inside pocket. "I'll settle for better than you."

"Humility suits you," Jack remarked dryly, and James flashed a grin.

Ian chose that moment to wander in Jack's office, munching on a cookie and holding another in his other hand.

"Do you like peanut butter cookies, James?" he asked, holding out the uneaten one.

"Love 'em," James said, crouching down and taking the cookie, winking as he took a bite that took off half the cookie in one go.

"Where's my cookie?" Jack asked as Ian giggled.

"Gwen has more," Ian said, gesturing behind him, and James grinned again before popping the other half of the cookie into his mouth.

"He used to bring _me _cookies," Jack grumbled.

"Novelty is a dangerous thing," James said, reaching forward to tousle the boy's hair affectionately.

"Are you leaving?" Ian asked.

"Yeah, about to."

"Am I gonna see you again?" the little boy asked.

"If I'm lucky," James said, smiling at him as he stood up. "I think…you and Uncle Jack should walk me to the door."

"'Kay," Ian said, taking James' hand as they walked out of the office. As soon as they hit the hall, however, Ian released James and ran forward with a happy cry of "Mummy!"

Jack watched fondly as Rose laughed, her hands stroking Ian's head as his little arms wrapped around her thighs, then glanced at James, whose jaw had gone slack.

"Close your mouth, flies will get in," he whispered, bumping James' shoulder with his own before turning his attention back to Rose. "Hey, doll. Thought I said I'd drop him off."

"Yeah, but I got done sooner than I thought," said Rose. "A client called and wanted to completely revamp his campaign, which means an extension, which is wonderful since I hadn't actually started on the original design anyway."

"Love it when things work out like that," Jack said with a grin, then nodded at James. "Rose, this is a friend of mine, James Noble. James, this is Ian's mom, Rose Smith."

"Hello," she said, holding out a hand.

"Hello," said James, beaming at her as he shook her hand. "Pleasure to meet you."

"He's my friend too, Mummy," Ian piped up, still hugging one of her legs. "We played chess and had pizza and pasta and he rode a efa…_elephant_."

"Quite a day," Rose said, smiling down at him, then looked up at James, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You played chess, huh? Would this have been in the park?"

"Heard about that, eh?" James asked, wincing and scratching at the back of his head.

"He got really angry at Mister Saunders," Ian said, his face serious as Rose looked down at him. "He said Mister Saunders is a incomp'tent tosser, and we deserve better."

"Did he?" Rose asked, looking back up at James with raised eyebrows.

"Well…" James said, drawing out the word, then buried his hands in his pockets, looking chagrined. "Sorry."

Rose sighed, shaking her head. "Don't be. You're probably right. But thanks…for coming to his defense like that."

"You're welcome," he said, tilting his head as he studied her. "It wasn't just him, though. You deserve better too."

"I…thank you," Rose said, looking a little flustered as she looked down at Ian again. "Alright, schrunchkin…you ready to go?"

"You know," Jack interjected, glancing between Rose and James. "You're going to need a new tutor, and since it's James' fault your last one quit…maybe he could fill in…at least until you find a new one. You did say you'd be in town for a couple of weeks, right, James?"

"Oh…well…" James started, looking suddenly cornered.

"Can he, Mummy?" Ian asked excitedly, letting go of her leg to tug on her arm. "Can James be my new tutor?"

"Oh…I'm sure James has other things he wants to do while he's here," Rose said. "Especially if he's not going to be in town long."

"Oh," Ian said softly, his face falling. "Okay."

"Don't…don't do that…" James said, grimacing.

"It's alright," Rose said, giving James a small smile. "You don't owe us anything. Really, you probably did us a favor. C'mon, Ian."

James opened his mouth again as she turned away, but closed it again after a second, looking down with a quiet sigh.

"You did that on purpose," he muttered in a low voice to Jack.

"I would never," Jack said in a shocked tone.

"And now you're lying," James said. "You're manipulating people and you're lying. You're a terrible person." He shook his head at Jack, then turned back to where Rose was helping Ian with his coat by the door. "Rose, wait," he said, striding over to her when she looked up. "He's right, it is sort of my fault…even if it was completely justified, I might add. But I really don't…have anything else to do while I'm here. So I could fill in—temporarily—if you want."

"I…I dunno," Rose said, hesitating as Jack stepped closer, leaning against a wall and watching the exchange. "I mean, do you actually have any teaching experience?"

"He taught English in India," Ian put in. "And in Thailand until Uncle Jack got him kicked out of Bangkok."

"Wow, you really do listen to _everything_, don't you?" James asked, looking cagey until Rose giggled. He looked back at her, his expression softening. "He's right, though…I did teach more than once. What do you say? Give me a shot?"

Rose's gaze roamed uncertainly until it fell on Jack. "What do you think?" she asked him.

"Wouldn't have suggested it if I thought it was a bad idea," he said with a shrug. "James is a certified genius, so you're not going to really do better as far as knowledge base, and he's really good with Ian."

Rose looked back at James, eyeing him up and down, then looked down at Ian's hopeful expression and sighed. All three smiled, recognizing the victory.

"Alright, fine," she said. "I already told my boss I'd be working from home tomorrow, so you can start on Monday. Eight o'clock."

"I'll be there with bells on," James said, beaming at her. "Look at that, Ian…got lucky after all," he added, winking at the boy. "I'll see you then."

"Kay," Ian said. "'Bye James!"

"'Bye," he said, then cut a look at Jack. "I'll talk to _you_ later."

"Looking forward to it," Jack said, completely unapologetic, and James shook his head.

"See you next week, Rose," he said, reaching out and squeezing her arm gently as he passed.

Rose looked after him for a moment, a confused expression on her face before she turned back to Jack, suddenly serious.

"If this turns out badly, it's on your head," she said.

"Absolutely," he agreed.

"Alright," she said with a curt nod as she knelt down to zip Ian's coat. She hesitated for second, then looked back up at Jack, a hint of insecurity in her eyes. "You're still coming on Saturday, right?"

"Of course," he said, sobering.

As they said their goodbyes, Rose insisting on thanking Gwen and Tosh for helping with Ian, Jack's thoughts swirled around Rose and her inability to catch a break. It made a sick sort of sense that things would be hectic at work at the same time that she lost her tutor, especially if there was any way that all of it could fall during _this_ week, coinciding with the anniversary of John's death, easily the hardest day of the year for her.


	4. Lost

Rose watched Jack and Ian walk hand in hand toward the cemetery gates before sinking to the cold ground, leaning her back against John's headstone. As with every year, she felt exhausted just from the effort it took to keep herself together on this particular day. She was always grateful when Jack took Ian for lunch, giving her a window of time to not be alright.

"The dead never judge," she murmured, letting her head fall back against the cold stone. "I wish the living were as kind." She paused, bending her knees and resting her arms on them. "Saunders quit. You probably would have fired him a long time ago. _Or_ hit him. Probably both. But he's gone now…that's what matters.

"Jack found me a replacement," she went on. "Mind you…he's sort of the reason Saunders quit. The replacement, not Jack. James Noble, that's his name. Apparently, he took issue with Saunders' attitude toward Ian…he called him a prick…among other things. And he told Ian that we both deserve better…after knowing Ian for maybe ten minutes, before meeting me at all. You'd probably like him. Neither of you suffer injustices quietly."

She paused again, picking at a hole starting in the knee of her jeans. "I'm not sure about it, though. Maybe I should just try to work from home for a few days until I find someone else. He'd only be temporary anyway. He travels…he's only in town for a couple of weeks, so even if he did tutor Ian, I'd need another replacement sooner than later. Probably better to just hire someone else. Ian already worships him…he's barely stopped talking about him since the other day. The longer he stays, the harder it's going to be when he leaves. I don't even know anything about him. He's just…someone who was there. I need more than that to leave him with Ian, don't I?"

She turned her head to the side, looking at the engraved letters on the stone for a moment before reaching a hand up, tracing them gently with her fingers. It would be so much easier if John was still here. What she wanted was someone to just look at the situation and…fix it, somehow. And he would have. He would have told her it was going to be fine, and he would work some magic, and it would be. But he was gone, and he took all the magic with him.

"It's not fair, you know," she whispered, not trusting herself to speak without her voice breaking as her eyes started burning. "People are dead so much longer than they're alive. You've been gone longer than you were with me," she said, swallowing hard as her throat started to close on her, the tears building in her eyes threatening to choke her. "But I still miss you all the time. Every time I see that flash in Ian's eyes when he's irritated, or the way they light up when he discovers something new. Every time I walk past the coffee shop, or that pub."

Her voice did break then, as she remembered the night they'd danced in vivid detail, stripping away the immense control she spent so much energy on all the time.

"Every bad day is so much harder," she said, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks. "And every good day feels wrong, because you're not there. And you should be." She sniffed and brought her other hand up to swipe at her wet cheeks. "I don't know what I'm doing most of the time, John. I'm trying, I am, but I just—"

She stopped, gasping for breath and wrapping her arms around her legs as she brought them up to her chest, crying in earnest.

"I just wish I didn't feel so lost," she said. "I try to be okay, for Ian, I do. But no matter how much time goes by, I still feel so…alone, and…and it wasn't supposed to be like this. You weren't supposed to leave."

She choked on another sob, then let her forehead rest on her knees as she took a deep breath, willing her tears to stop. After another minute, she got to her feet, back in control. She turned back to the headstone, pressing a kiss to fingers, then her fingers to the top of the stone.

"I love you, John," she whispered, then turned quickly, crossing her arms tightly and walking away swiftly before she could break down again. It never solved anything, and, as much as she wished someone could just…take some of her mess and drop a solution in her lap, that wasn't going to happen.

She was on her own.

oOoOo

Sunday afternoon, Ian was playing in his room when Rose called James.

"Hello?" he answered uncertainly.

"Hi!" she said exuberantly, then winced at her tendency to overcompensate when she was uncomfortable. "Um. Hi. It's Rose. Rose Smith."

"Right!" he said. "Hello, Rose Smith. I'm guessing Jack gave you my number…I'm sorry. I was already on my way out on Thursday, and didn't realize until I'd gotten home that I didn't actually do any of the things that I really should have thought about doing as an employee, such as give you my _phone number_ or even ask for the address of where I'm supposed to be on Monday morning…though I suppose I could have asked Jack too. Well, at least one of us was thinking rationally, cheers."

"…Right," she said after a moment, not sure how else to respond. "Um, about that…I mean, I just…I don't actually know you at all. So I don't know—"

"How'd you meet Saunders?" he interrupted.

"Uh…he was recommended by an agency," she said, blinking.

"Okay, first of all, whoever runs that agency needs to re-evaluate the criteria they use to recommend individuals," he said, sounding annoyed. "Second of all, at least you know Jack, which is…well, alright, questionable, admittedly," he added, and she smiled despite herself. "_But_ he clearly cares about you and Ian, and he really is a good person, so you can't honestly believe that he'd suggest someone he thought would be harmful. And certainly not anywhere near as harmful as _Saunders_."

"He didn't seem that bad at the interview," Rose said defensively. She already felt guilty about subjecting Ian to Saunders; she definitely wasn't going to let a virtual stranger add on to that.

"I don't doubt it," he said. "Although I have a hard time believing that he didn't at least seem like he had a stick up his arse and an infinite lemon in his mouth."

"Well, that doesn't mean he couldn't be a good teacher," she protested, even while a tiny voice in her head cheered at James' description.

"Again, I'm not arguing with you," he said. "I'm not saying that you didn't make the best decision based on the given information. What I _am_ saying is that the information you have about _me_ isn't all that less substantial, and I have a better recommendation, and, most importantly, I actually like your son. And you, at least what I've seen. But, for the record, you can ask me whatever you want. Furthermore…Rose, all I'm doing is giving you a chance to actually be discerning about who you hire to tutor Ian later, and make sure whoever you choose is actually a decent person. There's no long standing contract here. If you don't like me, or don't like what I do with Ian, I'm not going to take offense to you telling me so, or even telling me to move on. He's your son…the control is always yours."

"Who _are _you?" she asked before she could stop herself.

"James Noble," he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. "Human being, and not a prick. Well, usually. I'm fairly sure I have my moments. I'm sure my sister could fill you in on those, if you're curious."

"I'll keep that in mind," she said with a smirk, then sighed. "You're just going to keep talking until I stop protesting, aren't you?"

"Probably," he said easily. "Rose, Saunders was an ass. And you deserve a break after dealing with him for…how long was he around, anyway?"

"Oh…eight months?" she said, thinking back.

"Way too long," he said. "That had to be a considerable amount of stress, and his departure was…disruptive. For both of you. Ian's self-esteem has to have taken a heavy shot, despite his apparent lack of fear of…well, anything, really. And before you say anything," he went on, and her mouth clicked shut in surprise, "let me repeat that I don't think that was your fault, and neither should you. Let yourself off the hook, and accept that someone is willing to help you."

"You don't even know me," she said, narrowing her eyes in confusion.

"I don't need to," James said. "I know that you had an unfortunate situation that had a bad ending, and that you would have had to scramble to fix it, which would have led to a good chance of things again being unsuccessful, and my being around can help that. That's all I need to know."

"Yeah, I stumbled through alright for several years without you," Rose snapped.

"No…that's not—oh blimey," he sighed. "I have this tick, where I start talking, and I'm just unintentionally rude because my mouth just…goes on without any interference from my brain. Point is, that's not at all what I meant. Rose, you've clearly done an amazing job with Ian. Like I said, all my presence means is that you have more time to consider your options as far as tutors go, and actually get some idea of who they are before you hire them. That's all."

Rose raised a hand to nibble on her nail, trying to figure out what to say. James seemed genuine, but she still didn't understand why anyone would agree to help without actually having any obligation to do so.

"How do you know Jack?" asked Rose suddenly.

"I met him…oh…fifteen years ago?" James replied promptly. "I…did some work with Torchwood, not too long after he started there. Actually, I met your husband a couple of times."

"What?" she asked, stunned.

"Mhm," he said. "Just sort of in passing, when he came to talk to Jack. He was a good man, though. _Ridiculously_ smart, and really, coming from me, that's saying something."

"Yeah, Jack said something about that," she said, skirting away from the subject of John. It was too raw of a wound at the moment. "Certified genius, right?"

"Oh yes," he said. "However, don't take it to mean I actually know what I'm doing…you know, ever. Being a genius doesn't actually _mean_ anything. It's the difference between knowing exactly how a microwave works, and actually being able to take food out before it's burnt."

"Did you just manage egotism and self-deprecation simultaneously?" she asked with a smile.

"One of my many talents," said James, and she couldn't help letting out a laugh. "And it got you to laugh, so definitely worthwhile. So are we good?"

"I suppose," she said with a sigh. "And like you said, it's only temporary anyway."

"Right," he said. "So relax. Where actually is Ian academically?"

Rose let out another heavy sigh. That had been another area of contention with Saunders…Ian picked up concepts with startling ease, but the tutor seemed intent on holding him back, leaving her frustrated and her son bored.

"Rose?" James asked after a minute of silence.

"Honestly, I'm not sure," she admitted in an irritated tone. "I'm certain he's ahead of where Saunders had him, even though that was supposedly advanced. So what he _was_ doing and what he _can _do, I think, are two totally different things, but I don't even know where to start…figuring out what he should be doing, which is why I hired a bloody tutor in the first place!"

James was quiet for a moment, and Rose immediately felt bad about her outburst. A temporary tutor didn't need to hear about all that, but it had been a stressful few days, and he was surprisingly easy to talk to.

"I'm sorry—"

"Don't be," he interrupted. "Just trying to figure out the best way to solve the problem. Um…listen, Rose, I'm going to let you go, but text me your address so I know where I'm going tomorrow. And don't worry…I know it's frustrating, but all of this is fixable. Breathe, and I'll see you in the morning."

He hung up, and she stared at the phone for a minute, wondering exactly how the conversation had spun so completely out of her control. She'd gotten his number for the sole purpose of telling him not to bother, and now he was apparently trying to figure out how to solve _her_ problems.

She'd take it, she decided, but relaxing wasn't going to be an option. She'd interview new people every day if she had to…if James was willing to help, she could at least do the work necessary to make sure that she and Ian were out of his hair as soon as possible.


	5. First Day

At seven thirty, Monday morning, James was bouncing on the balls of his feet outside Rose's flat after giving the door a "shave and a haircut" knock.

"You're early," she said as she opened the door, looking at him in confusion.

"Yes, I am," he said. "But...I brought doughnuts."

She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously, but he simply gave her a smile and held up the bag in his right hand.

"Yeah, alright then," she said after a moment, opening the door wide for him. "God, I don't know which of you is more excited."

"Hard to tell," he admitted, following her further into the flat.

"James!" Ian cried happily, sliding off his chair and running to him, wrapping his arms around James' knees. James immediately put the doughnuts and various items under his other arm on the table, then reached down and swung the boy up onto his hip.

"You're not gonna make me learn about trees, are you?" Ian asked, anxiety all over his little face.

"Do you know where the tallest tree in the world is?" James asked.

"Redwood National Forest in America," Ian said promptly, and James' eyebrows shot up. "It's three hundred and seventy-nine feet tall and it's called Hyperion, 'cause that was a giant in Greece."

James turned his head when he heard Rose chuckle, and saw her smiling at them over a mug of tea she was holding in both hands as she leaned against the door to the kitchen.

"We went through a world records phase just after he learned to read," she explained, looking at Ian fondly.

"When was that?" asked James.

"Just before his fourth birthday," she replied. "So he can pretty much tell you the biggest or smallest or oldest or weirdest anything at this point."

"Ian Smith," he said, turning back to the boy. "You are brilliant."

"Mister Saunders says I'm a know-it-all," Ian said, ducking his head self-consciously.

"Mister Saunders was wrong," James said, putting a finger under the boy's chin and lifting his face. "And he's gone. I'm here, and I say you're brilliant, alright?"

"Alright," Ian said, smiling up at him, then looked over at the table and zeroed in on the bag. "Did you bring doughnuts?"

"It's a distinct possibility," James said, beaming at him.

"Welcome to the world of a six year old's priorities," Rose said with a laugh as James set the wriggling boy on his feet so that he could investigate the doughnuts. "You want a coffee?"

"That'd be brilliant, thanks," James said, shrugging out of his jacket turning back to the table, where Ian was already well into cakey goodness, and examining the other things James had left on the table.

"What's this?" he asked, poking at a box as James draped his jacket on the back of a chair.

"_That_ is for you," James replied, picking up the box and opening it. "It's an iPad...it's going to help a lot with lessons."

He looked up when he heard a bang as Rose set down the mugs forcefully, coffee sloshing over the top and onto the table.

"Can I talk to you?" she said through gritted teeth.

"Um...Yeah," he said, confused. He set the tablet and the box back down on the table before she grabbed his arm, dragging him into the kitchen. She let him go to slam the door and the pass through shut before turning back to him with a glare.

"What were you thinking?" she hissed.

"What?" asked James, genuinely baffled by her reaction.

"I can't pay for that," she explained.

"It's already paid for," he said with a frown.

"Well I can't pay you back for it," she said.

"You don't have to," he said with a shrug.

"That's at least two weeks of pay for you, right there," she said, not listening.

"Rose, really, it's not a problem," he tried again.

"We're not some charity case," she snapped. "Maybe I can't give him iPads, but that doesn't mean that he needs someone to swoop in and-"

"Rose, no," James interrupted.

"What happens when you leave?" she demanded, and he ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

"It's not like I'm going to take it with me," he said, exasperated.

"You didn't even talk to me about it!" she ground out. "So much for 'the control is always yours'!"

"Rose," he said gently, trying to diffuse the situation. "I'm sorry if I offended you in some way, honestly. That wasn't my intention."

"Then what _exactly_ was your intention?" she asked, still glaring.

"I told you, I wanted the best solution for the problem," James replied calmly. "I have that tablet loaded with some phenomenal educational tools, both for day to day lessons and to gauge where Ian is in his education. That was my only motive, I swear...but I'll take it back if you want me to. I'll find some other way."

Rose bit her lip and looked back at the door for a moment before turning back to James, looking torn. He tried his best to look open and genuine to keep her from yelling at him again.

"You really think this is the best solution?" she asked uncertainly.

"Yes," he said firmly.

Rose studied him for a moment, then let out a harsh breath. "Alright...if you really think it's the best for his education. But," she added fiercely, pointing a finger at him, "no more insane moves like that without talking to me first, understand?"

"You have my word," he promised.

"Yeah, alright," she said slowly, watching him suspiciously. She sighed and rolled her eyes, turning and grabbing a towel before moving toward the other room. She paused with her hand still on the door, her face thoughtful as she swivelled back to face him. "Why would you spend that much money on a kid you're going to be around for two weeks?"

"Why not?" he asked with a shrug.

"You are a very strange man," she commented.

"Not the first time I've been told that," he said with a smile.

She looked at him for another second, then shook her head before opening the door and returning to Ian, picking up her coffee on the way.

James stood still for a moment, letting out a breath in a whoosh and trying to push out of his mind the observation that, if anything, Rose was actually prettier when she was angry. But it didn't take a genius to realize that she was so completely out of bounds that she might as well be in another universe.

Ian, however, was another story.

"Alright, Ian m'boy," he said, walking back out into the dining area and snagging a doughnut before picking up the tablet. "Let's look at what we've got here."

oOoOo

Rose called Jack as soon as she got to work.

"He bought Ian an iPad," she said as soon as he answered the phone.

"Good morning to you too," Jack replied sarcastically. "This is James we're talking about? I thought you were going to tell him that he couldn't tutor Ian after all."

"Yeah...that didn't go...completely as planned," she admitted slowly. "But then he came over this morning with a bloody IPad."

"Did he give a reason?" Jack asked. "Or is he just taking Ian down the treacherous road to Temple Run addiction?"

"Jack!"

"No, then?" Jack asked innocently, and Rose rolled her eyes, wishing he was there to smack.

"He said it will help him figure out where Ian is academically," Rose told him. "And help with lessons."

"So, basically he's doing exactly what you hired him to do," Jack said slowly.

"Well...yeah, if you look at it like that," she said, picking up a pen and doodling on a scrap of paper for a moment. "But why would he do that? That's so much money."

"Because he can," Jack said simply. "You've got to understand, that's just how his mind works. He sees a problem, and he finds the best solution, and doesn't register the possible consequences, good or bad. You know how he convinced the British government to check their internet security? He hacked into their servers, locked up all their data, and left his address and phone number. Nearly got arrested and thrown away for years, except he had encryption software waiting for them that would take a supercomputer three days to hack, and automatically changed the password every twenty-four hours."

"The difference between a microwave and burnt food," she muttered, shifting the pen in her fingers to massage her temple.

"What?"

"Nothing," she said, twirling the pen in her hand distractedly. "When was that? The...hacking thing?"

"He was nineteen," Jack said with a laugh. "That's how we met...they had him work with Torchwood to produce the software and implement it, because the company was basically unknown at the time. James is pretty much the reason it exists the way it does today, since he owns the patents on almost everything we use, and has a share of financial rights to a lot of the things we produce."

"What, seriously?" Rose asked, stunned.

"Yep," Jack said. "That's part of the reason the cost of the iPad didn't really occur to him. Money hasn't been a real concern for him...ever, really."

"He drives a car that's at least ten years old," Rose said, frowning in confusion. "And he teaches in other countries...you said yourself he's done everything from landscaping to bartending."

"That's just so he has something to do," Jack said. "He has money, but he has this weird relationship with it...it's there when he wants it, but he just sort of ignores it otherwise."

"Must be nice," Rose said quietly, staring into the middle distance.

"You're telling me," Jack said with a snort. "On the plus side...you have an assurance that he's helping with Ian because he really wants to, not because he's trying to make ends meet."

"So, wait, let me see if I've got this right," she said slowly. "I have a rich genius spending exorbitant amounts of money to tutor my six year old son for two weeks simply because he has nothing better to do at the moment?"

"Well...I do want to stress that he wouldn't be doing it if he didn't want to," Jack said. "But basically...yeah."

"Who _is_ this guy?" she burst out.

"One of a kind," Jack said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. "But he's one of my best friends, and he's a good person. So relax and learn to cope with the fact that a decent person wants to help you simply because he can."

"That's pretty much what he said too," she said, nibbling on a nail. "Does he usually end up in situations that he has to talk himself out of?"

"All the time," Jack said, sounding slightly exasperated. "But, you should know, he's also wildly successful at it. So argue at your own risk."

"I'll keep that in mind," she said with a sigh before saying her goodbyes and turning her attention reluctantly to her workday.

oOoOo

Rose called James at lunch, and both he and Ian had sounded distracted and eager to get off the phone and finish their cheese toasties. When she returned to her flat after work, she was certain that she would find one of two things had happened: either James would be completely exhausted and frustrated after chasing after an energetic and curious six year old all day…or her living room would be a blanket fort and they'd have nothing to show for a day that was supposed to consist of lessons.

"Mummy!" Ian cried the moment she walked in the door, running to hug her. She bent down and picked him up in a bear hug, and his little arms and legs clamped around her excitedly.

"Did you have a good day?" she asked, clasping her hands behind him as he leaned back.

"Yes!" he said breathlessly. "I had to do math this morning, a bunch of it, but it was okay because it was games with numbers and shapes and times and stuff and James says I'm really good at it because even though I only did plusing and minusing with Mister Saunders, James told me how to count by numbers an' I did multiple cayshuns, 'cause it's just counting by numbers, an' we talked about money an' uh...the thing with the point…"

"Decimals," James said, and Rose looked past Ian to see the new tutor sitting at the table, scribbling on a pad of paper.

"Yeah, those," Ian said dismissively. "An' then we talked about Hyperion-the giant, not the tree-an' his brothers and sisters that're called the Titans an' how their kids are called the Olympians an' they're the gods of Greece an' they went to war with their moms and dads. Mummy, do you think James knows everything?"

"I really don't know," she said, slightly winded as she looked at James, who looked up then with a smile.

"'Cause I think he does," Ian went on. "'Cause we talked about trees too, except it wasn't boring, cause did you know that veins in leaves are sorta like the veins in us? And trees don't die every year, they go dormant, which is like sleeping for trees, like bears when they hypernate."

"Hybernate," James said, standing and shrugging into his jacket.

"That," Ian said, nodding. "And James said tomorrow we can read some stories about Zeus and the other gods of Greece, but we've got to do more math because I'm still too good at it."

"Well, then," she said, not totally sure how else to respond. "Um, why don't you go play in your room for a little while so I can talk to James, and then I'll sort out dinner, alright?"

"Kay," Ian said, wriggling out of her grasp and sliding to the floor. He ran over to James, hugging the tall man around his knees. "Bye James."

"I'll see you tomorrow, little man," James said, tousling Ian's hair before the boy darted into his room. The sound of cars quickly replaced his happy babble, and James looked at Rose with a smile. She stared at him for a moment, her mouth hanging open a little, and the smile faded uncertainly. "Rose?"

"Yeah," she said, shaking herself. "I just...thank you."

"For what?" he asked, looking puzzled.

"It's just...been a while since he was that excited about learning," she explained, gesturing toward Ian's open door. "So...thank you."

"Well...it was only the first day," he said, tapping his pass against his leg. "I'm still trying to figure out where he is with math and reading comprehension, because he blew through everything I threw at him today. And then there's writing and spelling...although he does seem to have taken after his dad where history's concerned. Point is...there's still probably going to be days he's acutely annoyed at me."

"Still," she said with a small smile as he walked toward her to leave. "Thank you."

"It was my pleasure," he said, smiling warmly, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He moved to walk past her to the door, then paused, stepping back so that he was in front of her again. "Does this mean I'm forgiven for the iPad?"

"Oh...I suppose," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Brilliant," James replied, beaming at her. He reached forward and squeezed her arm gently. "I'll see you tomorrow...have a good night, Rose."

"You too," she said, turning as he walked to the door, and watching as he left, closing the door gently behind him. She stood thoughtfully for a moment, then turned to Ian's door, leaning on the frame. "Alright, Schrunchkin...what do you want for dinner?"

"James says the Olympians eat ambrosia," Ian said, looking up at her.

"Well...last I checked, we were fresh out," she said slowly. "So...how about cheesy noodles?"

"Yeah!" he said happily, and she smiled before turning away and heading for the kitchen.

All in all, she realized, not a bad first day.


	6. Failures By Design

"Evening, little brother."

James looked up from the book he was reading at the kitchen table as his sister sat down.

"Evening," he said pleasantly, then frowned, glancing at his watch. "I thought you had a date."

"Oh, I did," she replied. "Just got home."

James arched an eyebrow, casting another pointed glance at his watch, proudly showing it to be only nine thirty.

"Oi," Donna said with frown. "We went to dinner and a film, and then he brought me home at a respectful hour because he's a gentleman."

"Right," James said slowly, picking up the glass of water on the table. "And this was your…what…fourth date with the gentleman?"

"Fifth," Donna admitted in a slightly annoyed tone, and James hid a grin behind his glass.

"And how's that working out for you?" he asked.

"If he doesn't kiss me soon, I'm pushing him up against the nearest wall and doing it myself," she replied, and James burst out laughing. Donna smiled for a moment, then sighed. "Lee's just shy, is all. And he really is sweet…and he cares about me."

"That's what matters," James said, setting down his glass. "After all that business with Lance—"

"Oh, don't even bring up that…philanderer," Donna spat. "He's not even worthy of a mention. Him or his _Lady Racnoss_," she added with a sneer.

"Alright," James said, happy to leave the subject of his sister's ex-fiance alone. "I'm just glad to see you treated right this time…if at a maddeningly slow pace."

"Yeah," she said, toying with the table cloth. "So what about you? How's the tutoring going with the boy genius?"

"Really well," said James, leaning forward on his forearms and clasping his hands around his elbows. "Ian really is brilliant. I'm going to start him on some fourth year maths next week, because he's still flying through the concepts. His reading comprehension is ridiculous, partially because he's already been reading for a couple of years, but mainly because Rose has been working with him since he first started, asking him about what he was reading and what he thought about it…" He paused, remembering the shy, tongue-touched smile she'd given when he'd told her how wonderful it was that she'd been teaching him that all along. He looked back at Donna, whose eyes had narrowed a little, then cleared his throat and shook himself before continuing. "His spelling is a little behind his reading level, and he's a little frustrated, but he's still light years ahead of other kids his age. On the whole, he's doing really well, and Rose is thrilled because he's interested again."

"You're really into this whole thing, aren't you?" Donna asked, her head tilting to the side.

"Well…Ian makes it easy to enjoy," he said slowly. "I doubt that's true in all cases."

"And I'm sure having a pretty mum isn't hurting his cause," Donna remarked.

"Donna," he said in a warning tone, leaning back in his chair.

"What?" she asked innocently. "Don't tell me that didn't play a part in your decision to tutor some kid you had just met."

"I told you," he said. "That was Jack."

"Right," Donna said with a smile. "And you fought so hard against it."

"No, it wasn't—"

"So she's not pretty?"

"No," he said quickly, and Donna's eyebrows jumped. "No, I mean, yes she's pretty. Very pretty. Gorgeous, in fact. But it doesn't matter. She's a widow…and a _mum_. Nothing is going to happen." He sighed and rolled his eyes when his sister continued to look skeptical. "Donna, I'm a temporary tutor for her son, nothing more. She's got interviews lined up for next week. Presumably, she'll pick one of them, and then I'll be gone."

"That's it?" she asked.

"That's it," he said firmly.

"Oh, well, if it isn't my two overachievers," their mother, Sylvia, said as she entered the room, effectively cutting off whatever further argument Donna had in mind. The siblings shared a look and rolled their eyes before James shifted in his chair.

"You know, Mum," he said. "I know I don't often have the opportunity to say this, but at the moment, Donna and I both have jobs."

"Oh yes," Sylvia said acidly, arching an eyebrow as she poured a glass of water. "The temp and the tutor. You do make a mother proud."

"I have to wonder sometimes what would have made you proud," Donna muttered as James let out an annoyed huff.

"Oh, it's alright for you, Donna," Sylvia said, leaning on the counter and gesturing with her glass. "Never really expected much from you."

"Well, that's a load off my mind," Donna said with an eyeroll, and James smirked.

"Your brother, on the other hand," she said, and it was James' turn to roll his eyes. He'd heard this routine too many times to show much patience. "I saw that. All those things you did for bloody Torchwood, all that money, you could've done anything. You could've been a doctor, or a barrister, or a businessman. You could've been prime minister. But no…you had to go _traveling_. So now what am I stuck with? A son who wasted his potential, and a daughter who never had any."

With that, she downed the last swig of water in her glass, set the glass in the sink, and walked out of room again.

"You know," Donna commented. "Sometimes I wonder why you left, why you don't visit more often…and then I talk to Mum."

James shook his head in disbelief. "She really is astonishing," he said, then picked up his water glass, peering at it. "I'm gonna need something stronger than this," he said decisively, rising smoothly and heading for the liquor cabinet.

"Better make that two," Donna sighed, slipping out of her jacket finally and settling in. "She's got a point, you know."

"Oh, don't you start," said James, pulling out a bottle of brandy and two tumblers.

"No, but is this really what you're gonna do for the rest of your life?" she asked. "Travel?"

"Maybe, yeah," he said, returning to the table.

"Alone?" she asked, watching as he poured the drinks.

James glanced at her. "The other option didn't work very well, if you recall."

"Oh, that was years ago," she said dismissively as he pushed a drink toward her.

"Two years!" he protested. "Two. That's barely plural."

"But don't you ever get lonely?" she asked.

"How could I?" he asked with snort. "What with my big sister calling to check up on me all the time?"

"I just want to you to be happy," Donna said.

"I know," said James, his features softening. "But I am, for the most part. Honestly."

"I'd also like to see you more," Donna went on with a soft smile.

"Yes, but then how would I disappoint Mum?" he asked with mock horror.

"Suppose there is that," she laughed.

"To being failures by design," James said, raising his glass. She chuckled again before clinking her glass against his, and they both proceeded to down large gulps of brandy.

"Oh ho, what's this?" their grandad, Wilf, asked as he tramped through the back door. "What're we toasting?"

"Our mutual lack of possibilities in life," Donna said.

"Oh, been talking to your mother, then?" he asked, dropping his hat and gloves on the table before sinking into a chair. "Jamie, get your grandad a glass."

"You were literally _just_ standing," James said.

"Yeah, but I'm old, and you're kind," Wilf said happily.

James smiled and shook his head as he rose to get another tumbler, asking over his shoulder, "Find anything interesting out there?"

"I've got Jupiter looking gorgeous all night," Wilf replied, shrugging out of his coat. "Sitting there right between the Twins like a ball to play with. Might go back out and see Mars 'round midnight."

"Sounds like fun," James said, returning to his seat and pouring Wilf a drink.

"Yeah, you know, if you're still around next month, Jupiter's gonna move out of opposition," Wilf said, taking a sip. "We'll be able to see the red spot."

"Maybe next time, Grandad," James said carefully.

"Yeah, alright," Wilf said, piercing James with a look for a moment that made the younger man squirm uncomfortably, hiding it with another long drink of brandy. "Still planning on leaving us soon, then? Next week?"

"As of right now, yeah," James said, finishing his drink in a large swallow and reaching for the bottle again. This was just not a night for sobriety, apparently.

Wilf apparently caught the shift in his mood, turning to Donna instead. "How was the date?"

"Short," Donna said with a sigh, holding out her own glass for James to refill.

"Went badly?" Wilf asked.

"No," she said, shaking her head a little. "Not really. Just…dunno, wish sometimes he wasn't _quite _such a gentleman."

"You know, before I married your Gran, I always had her home at a respectable time," Wilf said slowly.

"Well, I think things have changed a bit since your time," Donna said carefully, and James hid a grin behind his glass.

"No, they haven't," Wilf said as he took another sip. "We were just better at managing our time."

"Grandad!" Donna burst out with a shocked laugh, while James choked on his brandy.

"Your gran was a beautiful woman," their grandfather went on stoically as James continued to laugh and sputter.

"I think that's my cue," Donna said, downing the last of her drink and slamming the tumbler back down on the table. "I take my leave of you, fair gentlemen."

"Night, Donna," James said, finally getting his breath back.

"Night, Jamie," she said as she stood and picked up her jacket. "Night, Grandad,"

"G'night, love," he said as she bent and kissed his cheek before exiting the room.

The two men were quiet for a moment after she left, sipping at their brandies. James was feeling pleasantly warm after another drink, and was once more reaching for the bottle when his grandfather spoke again.

"You remember what I said to you, Jamie?" Wilf asked. "When you first left?"

James paused and glanced at Wilf, then looked back down as he poured. "You said I should go out and find what I was looking for, no matter what anyone said…and bring back a piece of the world for you."

"And after all these years," said Wilf softly, "you still haven't found it?"

"Good lord," James said, setting the bottle down and running a hand through his hair. "Is there something in the water tonight? A memo I missed? I'd really like to know what's compelling everyone to tell me how bad my life is…or how it's bad for other people…or whatever knowledge you're trying to impart to me here."

"It's not that, James," Wilf said. "You know better than that. Your sister and I have always been behind you, and your Dad—"

"Dad's gone," James said shortly, taking a deep drink to drown old resentments. "And I don't want to talk about this."

"We just miss you, son," said Wilf quietly, and James felt a pang of guilt for snapping at him.

"Not everyone," James said, then scrubbed a hand down his face with a sigh. "Not yet, Grandad. I haven't found it yet. You'll be the first to know when I do."

Wilf nodded, his blue eyes concerned. "Just…make sure you don't get too busy running that you miss it, yeah?"

"Yeah," James said with a nod.

They sat together for a little longer, James further depleting the brandy supply while he told Wilf more about Ian and Rose, and Wilf caught James up on some of the local gossip. Eventually, Wilf wandered back to the hill to see Mars and James was left alone again.

It hadn't been so bad during the week, what with tutoring Ian to distract him and keep him from actually being around his family too much. He loved them, all of them, but days like this, both their concern and disapproval grew stifling and he got twitchy, anxious to flee to the next adventure. At least he only had another week—plus the weekend, because there was no way Grandad and Donna would let him go that quick—but then he'd be gone, and not a moment too soon.


	7. The Interview Process

"God, you just can't help yourself, can you?" Rose huffed, exasperated. "Last week it was an iPad, this week-"

"It's a booster seat, Rose," James said calmly. "It's not like I bought your son a gold plated iPhone."

"Why would you even _do _that?" she demanded.

"Because you take the bus, but it would waste half our day if I did that, and I can't call Jack every time I want to take Ian somewhere," he said with a shrug.

"What are you going to do with it when you leave?" she asked, chewing on a nail.

"I thought I might start smuggling six year olds from Portugal," he said with a straight face. "Or...I could leave it with you, in case you need it for something. Like a normal person."

"I don't even have a car," she protested, ignoring the attempt to lighten the situation.

"Your next tutor might," he said.

"They might have their own seat," she countered, and he rolled his eyes, taking a step back from her.

"So sell it, I don't care," he said, now as irritated as her as he ran a hand through his hair. "It's a booster seat, so I can take him to the museum and the aquarium. That's it. That's all. You paid me last week, it went to something that would help with Ian's education by providing transportation. Why is that a bad thing?"

"I-" She paused, biting her lip as she tried to find a way around this logic. James stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, watching her with an arched brow. She huffed out a breath, blowing her bangs out of her face and he fought a smile.

"James, are we going to the museum today?" Ian called from the dining area.

James raised his eyebrows at Rose, and she looked at him for a moment before sighing and giving a nod.

"Yes, we are," James said with a grin while Rose rolled her eyes. "Rose," he continued in a softer voice.

"Yeah," she said, still slightly annoyed and not quite meeting his gaze. He reached forward, touching her arm and squeezing gently so she'd look up at him.

"You're not needy, and it's still not charity," he said quietly. "It's just a booster seat. Alright?"

"Yeah, alright," she said after a moment.

"Admittedly, it did come equipped with a rocket launcher and ejector seat," he said, looking up thoughtfully. "But I figured that might be a _bit _much, even for someone as advanced as Ian."

She smiled despite herself at this outrageous lie, shaking her head when he grinned. "You're impossible."

"Nah," he said, still beaming at her. "Just a bit unlikely."

oOoOo

"Oh, I think teaching a child about self-worth is very important," said Miss Bliss Silvermoon, a potential tutor, who was seated across from Rose at her desk.

"Oh, well that's wonderful," Rose said, reserving judgement on the name. "We've had some issues with that in the past."

"The man will always try to bring you down," the woman said, her eyes wide as she shook her head.

"Right," Rose said, her own eyes narrowing a little before she shook herself and looked down at her notes. "So, um, I was just wondering what training you have in general curriculum...maths, science, things like that?"

"Oh, I don't worry about things like that," Miss Silvermoon said. "That's all products of consumerist society. What we need is love, and the creative works of love. That's what will make for a brighter future for everyone."

Rose stared at her blankly for a moment. "Right," she said again finally. "Well...I'll...um...be in touch."

"Sounds groovy," Miss Silvermoon said with a bright smile before standing and swaying out the door.

Rose sat still for a moment, then carefully picked up the woman's resume and dropped it in the bin.

oOoOo

"Thanks for coming Mr…"

"Butkis," the red faced man barked, and Rose swallowed back a laugh. "Now, I think you should know, Ms Smith, that I asked the agency for information before I came here."

"I...right, okay," she said, pausing for a brief instant before sitting down. "Is there...something you'd like to discuss?"

"Now I know it's probably not the lad's fault, being raised by a girl alone," he said. "But I don't tolerate any whining or nancy-boy behavior."

"I-I'm sorry?"

"I believe if you spare the rod, you'll spoil the child," he went on. "That goes for my own kids, and the kids I teach. So you should be aware that your son will have to get used to corporal punishment if he can't keep up."

Rose blinked. "I believe the agency is also aware that Ian's very advanced for his age?"

"And that's great," Butkis said. "But what you can learn from books won't mean anything at all if that's all you know. Boy needs to learn to be a man."

"And you could teach him that, I suppose?" Rose asked, her voice getting chilly.

"Yes, ma'am, I could," Butkis said, apparently not noticing the drop in temperature. "Your boy won't grow up being a geek, he'll grow up to be a man."

Rose's thoughts moved unbidden to the tall, lanky geek currently in her apartment, who didn't seem to have any trouble exuding male confidence.

"I'm not sure the two are mutually exclusive," she said coolly. "I'll be in touch."

As soon as the man left, she crumpled up her notes, tossing them forcefully into the bin.

oOoOo

James looked up in surprise from where he was leaning over Ian when Rose walked in on Friday afternoon. She was home at least an hour early.

"Mummy!" Ian cried happily, scooting off his chair to run and hug her.

"Hey Schrunckin," she said in a tired voice, and James studied her more closely, noting the slight tightness of her smile and faint lines of stress in her features.

"Rough week?" he asked mildly.

"It's fine," she said. "Any chance the kettle's hot?"

"Can be, if you give me a minute," he replied, already moving toward the kitchen. She followed him after a quiet word to Ian to finish what he'd been working on, and he turned to her as he filled the kettle. "So, did you settle on someone?"

"Yeah, we'll be fine," she said as she leaned against the counter.

Something about the way she said it, and the way she wouldn't look at him, made him ask, "Who?"

"Sorry?" she asked, picking at the cuff of her shirt.

"Who did you pick?" he clarified as he set the kettle on the stove.

"Doesn't really matter," she said, and he quirked an eyebrow up. "For you, I mean. You'll be gone already."

"Rose," he said quietly, tilting his head as he watched her get visibly more tense. "Did you pick someone?"

She watched him warily, reminding him of a scared rabbit for a moment, before she sagged against the counter.

"I couldn't," she said in a low voice. "I can't have something else like Saunders, I can't do that to him, and they were all bad. There was a hippy who didn't care about math and science, and someone who wanted to use _corporal punishment_, and then the others that just...I just…I just can't..." She trailed off, sounding near tears.

"Okay," he murmured, stepping towards her and putting an arm around her shoulders gingerly, not wanting to spook her. "Breathe, relax. Listen...no one wants another Saunders," he said slowly, thinking hard. He was supposed to leave on Sunday…but not for anything that couldn't wait another week. "Don't push yourself to pick someone you don't like because you have a deadline breathing down your neck. That wasn't the point of me being here at all. Do some more interviews next week-better yet, do them here, so you can see how the potential tutors interact with Ian too-then we'll talk next Friday."

Rose had gone still while he'd talked, and now slowly turned to face him as his arm dropped from her shoulders, her eyes wide. "You'll stay? You'll stay another week?"

"I'll stay another week," he said with a small, crooked smile.

"Thank you," she burst out, throwing her arms around his neck. He laughed in surprise and returned the hug, but the minute his arms were around her, she stiffened and stepped away. "Sorry, I just-"

"I don't mind," he said easily. "I like hugs. Ian's a good one for hugs...must have gotten it from you."

Rose rolled her eyes. "Not likely. John would hug anyone."

"Nah," he said. "Just makes me more sure that he got it from you. 'Cause you might not hug everyone all the time...but that just means you mean it when you do."

"Yeah?" she asked shyly, tongue poking out just a bit from her smile.

"Yes," he replied firmly, dragging his eyes back up to hers.

"Alright," she said with a laugh. "But...really, thank you."

"It's my pleasure, Ms Smith," he said.

oOoOo

"You should know, Ms Smith, that I have my own curriculum for science."

"Oh?" Rose asked the plump middle aged woman sitting across from her with an arched eyebrow. "Would you care to elaborate, Miss Sage?"

"Of course," she replied cheerily, before leaning forward and speaking in a hushed tone. "Is Ian saved?"

Rose blinked. "Saved?"

"Yes, my dear. Saved." Miss Sage tried to convey her meaning with a tilt of her head and widening her eyes. Rose thought she looked like a bemused owl.

"I'm afraid I don't follow," Rose shook her head, glancing up to where James stood behind the woman, his arms crossed and an odd expression on his face, a mix of amusement and irritation.

"I'm talking about God, sweet child," the older woman tutted. "I know he's young, but it's never too soon to talk about our Lord and Savior."

Rose bristled in her seat, gripping her pen tightly. "I don't see how this has anything to do with Ian's education."

"Oh sweetheart," Miss Sage said between forced giggles. "It won't do me any good to teach him the _proper_ story of creation and debunk those other false sciences, if the child doesn't know about the power of Christ's love."

James made a sign of the cross behind her, and Rose fought a smile as he jerked his head at the door.

oOoOo

"You have a lot of experience teaching children," Rose said to the older woman on the sofa, looking over her resume.

"Oh, yes, my dear," the woman said, and Rose looked up to see her wearing a kindly smile. "Of all ages too, though I do have a fondness for the younger ones. Such curious minds."

"Oh, well that's good to hear," Rose said in relief. "Ian's very...curious," she added, ignoring the cough James gave behind her that might have been masking a laugh. "Ian, why don't you come say hello to Mrs. Weatherby."

Ian slid off his chair to stand close to Rose, his eyes wide and nervous. "Hello, Mrs. Weartherby."

"My, aren't you a dashing young man," Mrs. Weatherby said, leaning on her knees. "And such amazing eyes."

"Mummy says they're my daddy's eyes," Ian mumbled. Rose didn't miss the way Mrs. Weatherby faltered momentarily after glancing up at James and his chocolate brown eyes.

"James Noble," he said, coming forward to shake her hand. "Current-and temporary-tutor."

"Of course," she said sweetly, recovering, and Rose let out a small breath of relief. "Now, Ian, I think you and I could have a lot of fun together. We'll play with blocks, and we'll learn our numbers. Like two plus two is four, and four plus four is...do you know, Ian?"

"Eight," he said promptly, but he'd stiffened slightly in a way that spelled doom for Rose. "And eight squared is sixty-four, and sixty-four squared is...do _you _know, Mrs. Weatherby?"

"Ian," Rose said in a low warning before turning back to the startled Mrs. Weatherby. "He's...very advanced for his age."

"Apparently not in manners," Mrs. Weatherby said, and at that Rose stiffened. "A child his age should not be able to do exponents."

"Well, it's a good thing I haven't told him that," James said moving again so he was standing close to Rose and Ian, his hand on her shoulder and looking like a protective knight. Any irritation Rose may have felt for his intrusion into events fled when she saw the way Ian stood just a little taller. "I also fail to see how asking his potential tutor the answer to a simple math problem would be construed as bad manners."

"I can see where he gets it," Mrs. Weatherby said, gathering up her purse and standing in a huff. "Ms. Smith, I fear you have your work cut out for you to find a replacement for _him._"

"You know, you're absolutely right," Rose said, standing and showing Mrs. Weatherby the door.

oOoOo

"Alright," James said, standing back from the mountain they'd formed on the trestle table he'd set up in the kitchen. "We've put in our hydrogen peroxide and our food coloring. Time for you to add the yeast."

Ian stood up on the chair next to the table and tipped the contents of his little cup into the volcano. "What happens now?"

"Well," James said, pulling him back a step. "We activated the yeast with warm water, so now it's going to act as a catalyst in the oxidation reaction with the hydrogen peroxide. Remember what a catalyst is?"

"It speeds up a reaction without being part of the reaction," Ian said confidently.

"Good man," James said with a grin.

"That's why I added more yeast," Ian said, watching the volcano as it started to bubble.

"Sorry?" James said, his gaze snapping to the little boy.

"I added more yeast to my cup," he said. "When you were doing the food coloring. To speed it up more."

James looked up at the volcano, then down at Ian again for a second before scooping him up and stepping quickly out of the kitchen, just before a muffled explosive noise was followed by a wet pattering. He stared up at the ceiling for moment, gathering his courage, then put Ian down and peeked around the door at the gloopy carnage inside the kitchen.

"I'm sorry, James," Ian said in a small voice, and James looked down to see him near tears. "It's all my fault."

"Hey, none of that," James said, kneeling in front of him and putting a hand on his shoulder. "We're scientists, right?" He waited for Ian to nod. "Well, that's what scientists do...muck about with things to see what they'll do. But maybe next time let me know before hand, alright?"

"Alright," Ian said, giving him a shaky smile.

"Right," he said, squeezing Ian's shoulder before standing to survey the damage. "Next lesson: how best to utilize the cleaning products at our disposal before your mum gets home."

oOoOo

"So you're a single mam, yeah?" the man on the sofa, Nathan Fitzgerald, said in an irish lilt.

"I am, yes," Rose said, and James looked up curiously from where he was reading at the table with Ian.

"Must be tough," the man said with a nod, glancing around the flat. "Making ends meet and all that."

"Um, it can be stressful," Rose said, tilting her head. "But I've never had a problem with finding a way to pay my tutors."

Fitzgerald's eyes cut to James for a moment before returning to Rose, eyeing her. "Yeah, I'll bet not."

James' eyes narrowed, but if Rose noticed anything amiss, she chose to ignore it. "So, about your CV...you did remarkably well in school…better than me, but that's not saying much," she added with a grin. "But that's good, cause Ian's advanced for his age, and really needs someone who can keep up with him."

"Ah, that shouldn't be a problem," Fitzgerald said, flashing her a grin. "Bet I could keep up with you too."

"...I'm sorry?" she asked, the line of her shoulders tightening.

"Just sayin', if you want to set up an...alternate form of payment," Fitzgerald said. "I wouldn't be opposed. I'm guessing this bloke here knows what I'm talking about. Am I right, mate?"

"Absolutely not," James said, and even Ian looked up at the chill in his voice. "Why don't you explain it?"

"Can't tell me you're not getting a little bonus from the boss lady here," Fitzgerald said with a wink.

"I think you need to come with me," James said in a low voice, getting to his feet.

"I don't think we were done here," the irishman said.

"Oh, I think you've been done for a while," James said, towering over him. "And I think that Ms. Smith here will be looking elsewhere for tutors...specifically ones that she can trust not to blatantly hit on her in front of her six year old son, ones that might actually be able to serve as a role model for something other than a neanderthal way to _score_."

"Have it your way, mate," Fitzgerald said, standing and pulling on his coat. "I was just trying to make life easier for the lady."

"Try actually treating one like a lady next time," James suggested as he followed the man to the door. "And I am _not_ your mate," he added as closed the door a little more forcefully than necessary and glaring at it for a moment before he turned back to the mother and son inside, and was a little surprised to see Rose giving him a similar look.

"Can I talk to you?" Rose said through gritted teeth, jerking her head at the kitchen.

James took a breath, then gave her a wide grin. "Yes, of course you can, Ms. Smith. I'd be delighted."

He held an arm out for her to precede him, then arched an eyebrow and followed slowly, closing the door behind him.

"That was uncalled for," she said as soon as he turned to her.

"I disagree," he said calmly, shoving his hands in his pocket. "I think that was not only called for, but necessary. He had no right to talk to you like that."

"I could have handled it," she snapped.

"Never said you couldn't," he said with a shrug. "But you can't honestly think I'd just sit back and let him treat you like that."

"I don't need a knight in shining armor," she said, crossing her arms.

He paused, his frustration at her aggressive self-reliance growing as he turned away and ran a hand through his hair. He turned back to her after a thoughtful moment and asked, "Would you have been this upset if it had been Jack instead of me?"

"That's...that's completely different," she said, waving him off.

"Why?" he asked, stepping toward her.

"Because he's still gonna be here next week!" Rose shot out, then immediately looked down, flustered. James felt his frustration drain away as he heard this echoed through every argument he'd had with her-it always came down to the fact that he wouldn't be staying.

He put a hand under her chin gently and without thinking, raising her face to look at him. "Rose, just because I'm temporary as a tutor doesn't mean I don't care what happens to you or Ian, and _that_ doesn't stop when I leave, either." He stroked her jaw with his thumb, then pulled back and coughed awkwardly, shoving his hands back in his pockets as he leaned against the counter. "Also, to that end...Rose, you know you can't hire any of the people you interviewed this week, right?"

"They were pretty awful, weren't they?" she asked with a weak smile.

"That's...putting it mildly," he said, nodding.

"What am I gonna _do_?" she moaned, finally uncrossing her arms to bury her face in her hands.

"Well...that depends," he said slowly, scratching the back of his head. "Am I fired for throwing the creep out."

She looked up at him through her fingers. "No."

"Then...I suppose...staying for another week couldn't hurt," he said, tugging on an ear.

"You don't...I can't…"

"You're not," he said, dropping his hand. "I'm offering."

This time, when she hugged him, it was more deliberate, and she didn't jump away the second he returned the hug, just tight enough to be reassuring, before she stepped away.

"Thank you, James," she said, her eyes serious. "And...I'm sorry. About that."

"Don't worry about it," he said, pushing off the counter. "And no need to thank me either. I'm sure next week, you'll find some who's perfect."

oOoOo

"Mummy?" Ian said Monday evening, looking up at Rose from where he was playing at the coffee table. "Do you want to hear what I learned today?"

"Absolutely," Rose said, setting down the project guidelines in front of her and turning to him. "Tell me, my love."

"There was a...a...filososofer...in ancient Greece," he began, his face scrunching up in concentration as he tried to pronounce the difficult word.

"Philosopher?" Rose hazarded.

"Yeah!" he said with a relieved grin. "And he was trying to figure out how to measure the volume of objects that weren't easy like cubes and pyramids-"

_Easy_, Rose thought with a smile.

"-and then he got in bath and figured out that the water gets higher when you put something in it, and you could measure the volume of _that_."

"Smart man," Rose commented.

"Yeah," Ian agreed. "But that's not the best part. 'Cause when he figured this out, he was excited, and he shouted 'Eureka!' and then jumped out of the bath to go tell his friends...and forgot to put any clothes on!"

Rose's smile widened when Ian burst into a fit of giggles at the end of his tale. "James tell you all that?"

"Uh huh," Ian said, his eyes returning to his trucks. "He said Daddy told him."

Rose froze, staring at her son. "He said what?"

"He said Daddy told him a long time ago," Ian said. "And he said Daddy was really smart, and nice, and would have been proud of me for being smart and nice too."

"I think he's probably right," Rose said weakly.

It was later, after she'd put Ian to bed, that she sat on her bed with her phone in her hand, indecisively chewing on a nail. After a moment, she took a breath and dialed a number.

"Ms. Smith," James said when he picked up. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I heard a story," she said. "About a naked philosopher."

"Ah, Archimedes," James said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. "Definitely an interesting bloke."

"Did...did John really tell you about that?" Rose asked hesitantly, swallowing at the lump in her throat.

"Mhm," he said. "About ten years ago, a time I went out to lunch with him and Jack. Only happened a couple of times, but he had a way of lasting in the memory."

"Yeah," Rose agreed sadly, looking over at the leather jacket still hanging on the back of the closet door. "Yeah, he did. I try to...talk about him...but it's…" She stopped, sniffing and blinking back the tears in her eyes angrily. After five years, she should be able to talk about him without crying.

"Of course it is," James said softly. "The thing about dying...people don't go away when they die. It'd be a lot easier for the living if they did, but it's not the nature of things. He's still real to you, in all the little moments, in your head and your heart, indelible. And you want him to be real for Ian, too...but sharing those moments, showing those marks he left...it's not easy, because just remembering hurts."

"Yeah," she said again, thickly. She swallowed hard and took a shaky breath, trying to steady herself. "I just want to thank you, for telling him that. It's good for him to hear about his dad from people."

"I just wish I'd had a chance to get to know him better," James said. "Especially now. If his wife and son are any indication...he was the best sort of man."

A warm, comforting feeling overtook her at the words and at the image of the crooked grin and soft, sincere eyes he surely wore as he said them. It eased the ache and made the lump in her throat a little easier to swallow back.

"Thanks, James," she said quietly. "For...you know...everything."

"It's my pleasure, Rose."

oOoOo

Rose looked down at the notes she had scribbled on the slightly wrinkled paper in her lap. So far she had been pleasantly surprised by the candidate seated across from her. Matthew Roberts was only a few years older than herself and had a very relaxed attitude. One that she had mistaken for apathy, only to be proven wrong as the conversation went on. He was actually rather intelligent and seemed to care greatly about his pupils. She raked her eyes down the paper, looking for anything that triggered a warning.

"Is it alright if I ask you a personal question?" Matt asked, his fingers drumming on a knee of his tightly crossed legs.

Rose lifted her head, immediately ready to go on the defensive. Ignoring the quiet shuffle of papers behind her as James and Ian worked, she raised an eyebrow and opened her mouth to speak.

"It's about Ian," Matthew rushed on to clarify, a slight panicky look in his eyes. His hands were raised slightly, warding off the hostility she was sure flashed in her eyes.

"Oh," Rose replied, blinking and swallowing the harsh retort she'd had ready. She released a long, calming breath. "Go on."

"I know that Ian's dad is no longer around. The why doesn't matter, that's none of my business." He leaned forward, speaking earnestly. "However, young boys with no father can become misguided or lash out. That doesn't mean its your fault. You just never know how they will react."

"What's your point?" Rose snapped, sitting up straighter.

"Ms Smith, you seem like a smart woman and I am sure you have been a very attentive mother," he assured her. "I am not trying to insinuate otherwise."

Rose deflated, shaking her head. "Sorry."

"It's quite alright. But I need to make something known upfront."

"And that would be?" she asked.

"I would be Ian's tutor," Matthew said. "And quite possibly...hopefully even, his friend. But I am not a grief counselor."

The unspoken 'or a father figure' hung in the air between them. Rose relaxed into the cushions of the arm chair. That was fine, perfect even. She wasn't looking for a replacement for John. And Ian was not in need of a shrink. She could make this arrangement work.

"Understood. And actually sort of..." Rose trailed off, giving Matthew a warm smile. "Perfect." A choking sound followed by a loud clunk from behind her, made Rose twist around quickly in her seat.

James had slammed down his mug and was choking on his tea. He could tell the interview had been going extremely well, only one minor bump that was quickly smoothed over and forgotten. Something clawed at his insides. Something he pushed away, not wishing to examine it further. But Rose's use of the word "perfect" had caused him to snap. White hot emotion shot through his body and he had inhaled, sucking burning liquid into his mouth.

Regaining normal breathing, James looked from Ian's concerned face to Rose's. She was watching him carefully, a small crease in her brow. He reminded himself that this was what she needed. Someone she could depend on to tutor her son. Ian deserved that. He was just filling in until she found it.

"Sorry," James said meekly.

Rose turned back to the potential tutor sitting with a bemused expression on the sofa. Matthew had amazing credentials, had answered all her questions to her satisfaction, and had even gotten along well with Ian. Out of all the other candidates, he was the only one who would actually fit what she was looking for. And if she gave him the job, James would be free to go. But through the whole interview, she had felt like something didn't feel...right.

James' interruption had jarred her thoughts, and now they turned back to the phone conversation the night before...and Rose suddenly realized what was wrong with Matthew Roberts.

He wasn't James.

"It was a pleasure to meet you," Rose said after a moment, standing and holding out a hand when he followed her lead. "I'll be in touch."

oOoOo

Friday evening, James was flipping through a book on Rome-the next topic Ian wanted learn about after the lesson on Pompeii-when Sylvia found him.

"Staying another week, then?" she asked, freshening the flowers in a vase.

"Oh, um...suppose so, yeah," he said slowly, just now realizing that he and Rose hadn't actually talked about it. He assumed something had come out in his references to make her pass on Mr. Perfect...and ignored the thrill the idea gave him.

"Uh huh," Sylvia said, giving him a sideways look. "Boy has she got you pegged."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked with a frown.

"It means she has no intention of finding another tutor for that boy."

"No, that's not..." He trailed off tiredly, scrubbing a hand down his face. "Look, not that I need to explain it, but she got home the same time we got back from the zoo, and she just took Ian up and I came home. We didn't have a chance to talk."

"Sure," Sylvia said, turning and resting one hand on the counter, the other on her hip. "Tell me, James, when was her last interview?"

"Well...she had one Tuesday...and…" He trailed off again. No...that couldn't have been it...could it?

"Uh huh," Sylvia said again, shaking her head and staring at him. "All that time you ran from us because we wanted you to be a doctor or barrister, and you get locked down into being a glorified _nanny_ because some estate girl bats her eyes at you."

"No...that's not...that's not how it is," he said slowly, even as he felt a band start to tighten around his chest.

"Oh, she's got your number alright, Mr. Man," Sylvia said with a derisive snort. "I'd put hard money on the fact that all those interviews were just for show. Why would she hire someone else when she could have a genius with a hero complex working for peanuts?"

She turned and left with the vase, leaving James staring after her. Some rational part of his mind was saying that Rose wouldn't do that, she didn't work like that, her need to do everything on her own wouldn't have allowed her to manipulate him like that…

Unless that was an act too.

Any rational part of his mind got drowned in the reflexive horror he felt at being tied anywhere against his will for any length of time. The house suddenly felt suffocating, the whole bloody _country _suddenly felt like it was closing in on him. He bolted from the room, leaving the book on Rome behind on the counter.

Within hours, he was driving his car onto the chunnel train bound for France, blocking out any thoughts of curious blue eyes and tongue-touched smiles.


	8. Avoidance Techniques

It was almost four in the morning when James reached Paris, and he had one of his rare moments of personal awareness of the benefits of having money to burn as he checked into a fairly posh hotel with no questions asked, despite the hour and his rumpled appearance. He dropped his laptop and duffle as soon as he got up to his room and flopped on the bed, letting terrible adverts lull him into an exhausted sleep.

When he clawed his way back to consciousness two hours later, he wasn't feeling any better about events in London, but at least he was awake and there was a channel and a country border separating him from all of it.

He called down for breakfast and and took a shower before slipping on his specs and checking his phone out of habit. When he realized he still had it off, he decided to leave it that way, not interested yet in answering the texts that were surely waiting from his sister. She'd been up on the hill with Grandad when he'd gotten done hurriedly packing, and he hadn't wanted to deal with the goodbyes and explanations and arguments from both of them. It wasn't unusual for him, but she always tried to get a hold of him soon after to find out where he was going and if he got there alright. At the moment, he still wasn't sure where he was going, and he was far from alright, so best avoid it entirely for the moment.

Instead, he set up his laptop at the desk in the room, eating his breakfast as he scanned the email he'd been ignoring the last couple of weeks. Friends either asking him to visit or suggesting a place to him, a few emails from people and companies asking for his help, his money, or both. After several minutes, he sighed and pulled a pad of paper toward him, jotting down some possibilities: Rome, Venice, Athens-

He twitched and quickly crossed out all three, closing his email with a jerk. He took a deep breath as he stared at the desktop of his computer, then brought up the software he'd been working on. When it was done, it would work for children that were homeschooled-and, in theory, even in classrooms-to create tailor made curriculum through a series of activities. It wouldn't take the place of teachers and tutors, but it would allow students to work at their own pace, rather than being pulled ahead by the group before they were ready or held below their ability and left bored. It relied on benchmarks for each grade, but students could easily be working on activities for different grade levels in different subjects. He'd already had some success using it with Ian, who was currently working on fourth year maths, sixth year reading, and all over the map in science and social studies-

James stared at the data for a moment before making a strangled noise and shutting the laptop with a snap. He rubbed at his eyes under his glasses for a moment, then pulled them off and set them on the desk as he rose, wandering away and turning on the television. He flopped on the bed and flipped channels for several minutes, but suddenly had felt restless, claustrophobic. In another minute, he gave up on the television, tugging on his coat and a hat before making his way out of the hotel.

He spent the day wandering the city, from the Notre Dame to the Moulin Rouge to the Arc de Triomphe, taking in the sites as well as the immense amount of history and architecture between the high points. More than once, he found himself thinking of lessons for Ian, and taking pictures to show him, before he'd move on in frustration. It was insane, he was in one of the most famous cities in the world, the city of romance, and he kept thinking about a six year old boy who was caught in the crossfire of his mother's manipulation.

He stopped at a corner bookseller before having dinner alone at a cafe near the Eiffel Tower, then ventured over to Champ de Mars, sitting on the grass as the famous landmark lit up with the setting sun. Hawkers selling tourist buys moved around, and James ended up buying three figurines on impulse, only realizing after the vendor had moved off that he'd bought one for Ian.

He sighed and set them aside, gazing at the twinkling edifice as he brooded on things he'd been trying, with little success, to avoid all day. Thing was, he did like Ian. He even liked tutoring him. The past month, time had flown by, and until Friday, he hadn't really felt the burn to run. There wasn't anything about the situation itself that he was fleeing from-it was the choice being taken from him. He'd faced that enough after working with Torchwood, from every side. His duty to his country, his family, mankind, all coming wrapped in contracts and emotional blackmail. That's why he'd run, why he'd never looked back, why he'd fought so hard after his dad had died to keep from getting shackled to a life he couldn't stand because of some ambiguous notion that James owed it to his dad to become something the older man had wanted despite the fact that his father was dead and gone and would never know the difference.

James ran his hand through his hair in frustration after watching the lights twinkle to show the hour for the third time. He picked up his book and figurines and trudged away, having accomplished nothing but becoming more annoyed. He couldn't even understand why she'd done it; Rose had interviewed someone who was clearly an ideal match, if a bit...young and...irritating. So why not just take him? Maybe she hadn't been as upset about the things he'd bought as she'd let on…

But the flash in her eyes, the stubborn pride that both she and her son shared rose up in his mind's eye as he walked through the dark streets, contradicting every reason he had for running. It was such a knee-jerk reaction, the need to evade any sort of forced responsibility...no. She hadn't even said anything about hiring anyone. He'd already been swindled into staying twice as long as he'd planned, and god only knew how long she'd keep him there if he hadn't left when he did. Better this way. Better for everyone involved, before Ian started to believe his mother's delusion and think that James would have some permanence in his life.

Right. Better this way.

He repeated this to himself as he entered the hotel and made his way up to his room, but it didn't actually ease his mind at all. He dropped everything on the desk and opened the minibar; if he couldn't get peace on his own, he'd look for it at the bottom of several small bottles.

oOoOo

After scraping a couple of hours of sleep together, James awoke and immediately regretted several decisions, specifically the last few decisions to open a new bottle from the minibar. He groaned as he sat up, trying to remember Jack's hangover cure; the memory proved elusive through the headache, though, so he settled on a bloody mary while he squinted at the coffee maker in his room, trying to work out how to make it go. Every bit of genius failed him at seven am on Sundays.

Eventually, after managing to get the coffee to brew, stumbling through a shower, and pulling on a fresh pair of jeans and button up, he felt half-way human again. Sitting down at the desk and slipping on his glasses, he took a deep breath and turned on his phone. As he'd figured, there were at least ten messages from Donna since Friday evening, getting increasingly shouty. There were also a couple from Jack and one from Rose...these he scrolled past quickly without opening, going for Donna's most recent text.

_IF YOU DON'T BLOODY ANSWER ME, YOU'D BETTER BE DEAD, OR I'M GONNA KILL YOU._

James winced, knowing that his sister's use of volume and/or caps lock was directly proportional to how worried she was. It wasn't like they were always in constant contact, but he usually let her know within twenty-four hours of leaving where he was heading, and warned her if he was going off the grid. Disappearing like that without a word for two days wasn't a good move.

_I'm fine. I'm in Paris. Not sure how long. No death present or necessary._

He didn't even bother to put the phone down, and smiled when he had a reply within seconds. Hundred and fifty words per minute, his sister, and texts were no exception.

_What happened?_

_Nothing. Just time to go. Same old life. I'll text you when I leave the city._

_Make sure you do. Love you, Spaceman._

_You too, Earthgirl._

James tossed the phone down on the desk after sending the last message and rubbed his eyes under his specs. This was just _stupid_. The brief text conversation only confirmed it. He never stayed home long. Leaving now shouldn't be having such a massive effect on him. It was simply time to go, to move on. Another few days in Paris to sort out where the hell he was going, at least some sort of...geographical _region_...and then he'd be off again

Til then...might as well make the most of it, he reasoned, pulling off his specs and shrugging into his coat. It was maybe a ten minute walk to the Louvre from his hotel, and despite the slightly sore muscles from the wandering the day before, fresh air couldn't hurt.

He took his time getting to the museum, and wandered around for a while before noting with dark amusement that he'd found his way to Greek and Roman installations. Clearly his subconscious wasn't allowing him to let go of this, regardless of how little sense it made. He sighed, and turned to leave, but a voice called out to him.

"You know, most people come to the Louvre for the wonder, to distract themselves from their problems."

James turned to see a blonde woman watching him with an amused expression.

"Well," he said, glancing around as he drew out the word, "occasionally the subconscious gets stuck on 'torture', making distraction difficult."

"Pity," she said, stepping toward him. "Always the handsome ones that are tortured souls."

"Nah, not a tortured soul," he said, flashing a crooked smile. "Just sort of...temporarily on the rack."

"Perhaps you simply need some help?" she suggested, smiling a little. "A conspirator in your plans for distraction. Reinette Poisson," she added, holding out a hand.

He hesitated for a moment, then shook her hand. "James Noble," he offered. He thought he saw a flash of something in her eyes, but it was gone before he could be sure. He shrugged it off, instead saying, "and you...share your name with some rather famous french aristocracy."

"Yes, so I'm reminded every time I meet someone new," she said, her eyes twinkling. "At least now I've met a noble. Perhaps in a past life you were a king...or at least a lord."

"Oh, of course," he said, grinning wide. "Face like mine? Born to be printed on money."

"I certainly wouldn't mind seeing it so often," she commented, arching a brow.

"Oh...I...um...well," he stuttered, shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels as he coughed awkwardly.

"Do you collect much art?" Reinette asked, ignoring his discomfort as she looked around. He followed her gaze throughout the gallery and shook his head.

"Nah," he said dismissively. "Art should be in museums where it can be enjoyed by the masses, not in some dusty collection somewhere. I'd have no where to put it anyway...I travel a lot," he explained hurriedly.

"Well, then you should definitely take this opportunity to enjoy it," she said, taking his arm and leading him to the nearest piece, sharing tidbits of information on the way.

They spent much of the day like that, trading random trivia about pieces they came across, both occasionally throwing out a bald faced lie in an attempt to trip the other up, and never succeeding. James had to admit he was enjoying himself, and Reinette was proving to be a worthy opponent to his internal crisis.

He couldn't quite relax with her, though. For one thing, her flirting grew more obvious as the day wore on, and his confusion with it. She was pretty, he supposed, in a sort of...meticulous way, like she'd taken care to appear not to care, as well as being clearly intelligent and commanding of her knowledge, but she was almost aggressive in her interest with him, for whatever reason. While a day spent with a bright, beautiful young woman would be a worthy pastime in most cases, he became increasingly uncomfortable, feeling like cornered prey rather than an afternoon's companion.

"You should take me to dinner," she said finally as afternoon turned to evening.

"I...what?" he said.

"I think I've done a passable job keeping you off the rack," she replied with a shrug. "No reason to go back to it just yet."

"Oh. Um," he hedged, but didn't actually see a viable excuse to say no. Dinner couldn't hurt. "Yeah, alright. Lady's choice."

"I was hoping you'd say that," she said, leading the way out of the museum.

They'd only managed to walk a few feet from the museum before James' phone chirped in his pocket. He pulled it out and gave it a cursory glance, then froze when he saw that it was Rose calling. He grappled for a moment, then made a frustrated noise.

"Hang on," he muttered to Reinette, then paced away as he brought the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"James!" Rose said immediately, sounding surprised. He didn't think he'd let it ring _that_ long...maybe she was just surprised he answered at all. "Um, hi! It's...it's Rose."

"I know," he said, narrowing his eyes a little. "Listen, Rose-"

"Ugh, I know, it's the weekend, and I'm so sorry," she interrupted quickly.

"No...no, it's not that-"

"Oh god, are you on a date?" she asked quickly, sounding panicked. "Did I interrupt a date? Shit. Oh, bollocks, Ian don't repeat that word."

"I'm not a date," he told her, smiling a little despite himself.

"Oh...alright, good," she said. "I'm sorry, though...it's just...Ian."

"Everything alright?"

"Yeah, no, everything's fine," she assured him quickly. "It's just he keeps asking me these questions about Rome that he forgot to ask you on Friday, and is driving us both mad with worry that you won't be able to answer or that you'll forget the book, since reminding you to bring the book wasn't actually the last sentence he uttered on Friday. Can you..._please_...just talk to him for a minute before I'm forced to take drastic measures?"

"What drastic measures?" he asked, glancing back at Reinette.

"I'd rather not say," Rose said in a conspiratorial tone. "But I have got the duct tape nearby."

"Dire circumstances indeed," he said with a smile, turning away again.

"So you see my problem," she agreed. "Do you think you could just...talk to him? For a minute? Please? Assure him that you'll bring the book tomorrow and you'll tell him all about ancient Rome?"

James started at that, remembering where he was and why. It was so easy to fall into casual conversation with Rose...probably why he hadn't noticed what she was doing in the first place. But the fact that a little boy was going to suffer was most likely the reason his subconscious had been flogging him the past two days; Ian deserved some sort of goodbye, and an assurance that it had nothing to do with him.

"Yeah, put him on," James said finally, his tone guarded once more.

He heard the sound of the phone changing hands, and then Ian's voice cautiously say, "James?"

"Hey, little man," James said.

"Hi!" Ian said, instantly sounding cheered.

"Hi," James said, smiling again, then paused, trying to figure out the best way to say what he needed to. "Listen, Ian, about Rome-"

"You are bringing the book right?" the little boy interrupted. _JUST like his mum_, James thought, exasperated. "Does it talk about Circus Maximus? Did they have lions there? 'Cause I thought they did lions at the Colosseum with the gladiators. And I saw a thing that said that Romans didn't use soap, but Mummy says she needs v...verif'cation of that before she lets me skip bath time. And I wanna know, how come English people speak English and Greek people speak Greek but Romans speak Latin, do you know?"

"I...I'm not sure," James managed, feeling a little dizzy at the barrage of inquiries. "Um...that's actually a good question. But as for baths, they rubbed themselves with oil and then chipped it off, which took a lot more time. And they didn't have toys to play with like you do in the bath."

"Oh," Ian said, sounding disappointed. "But we can talk about the other stuff tomorrow, right? And you'll bring the book?"

"I…" James trailed off, closing his eyes and cursing silently. This wasn't something he could do on the phone. Not like this. "Yeah, tomorrow. I'll bring the book, and we'll talk about Rome."

Ian gave an excited squeek, and James looked up at the sky as the phone once again changed hands.

"Thank you so much," Rose said sincerely. "He's honestly been like that since we walked in the door Friday afternoon. I'm sorry I interrupted your weekend."

"It's fine," he sighed. "I'll see you tomorrow."

They said goodbye, and James stared at his phone for a minute before shaking his head and shoving it back in his pocket. Never involve kids. Never get close. Go where you want, leave when you say you're going to leave. They were all rules he lived by, because if he didn't it was too easy to get trapped-just like this.

He sighed again as he turned around and walked back to Reinette.

"Sorry," he said as he got close. "I'm going to have to cancel on dinner...something came up, and I've got to leave tonight."

"That's hardly fair," she said with a coy smile, and he frowned in confusion as she stepped forward and toyed with the lapel of his jacket. "A handsome millionaire should be allowed to enjoy Paris as he pleases."

He froze, the sound of blood pumping in his ears blocking out everything else as the day came sharply into focus. The flash when he'd said his name, the aggressive flirting, the cloying interest and personality…he'd consciously made an effort to keep from becoming any sort of household name, but he knew his work with governments, his age, his fortune had given it circulation in certain society circles. Evidently, Reinette was a part of them.

"Oh, Reinette," he said softly. "You're so much better than that."

"What do you mean?" she asked, looking startled as she stepped away from him.

"You're so intelligent," he said. "Why would you use that in such a poor manner?"

"I beg you're pardon," she snapped.

"Tell me, when did my net worth become a topic of conversation?" he asked. "Hmm? No...you knew who I was...that's why you stuck by me all day like glue. Why you suggested dinner. God, it's never simple is it?"

She had the decency to look away then, flushing as she mumbled, "I don't know-"

"Oh, come off it," he said, rolling his eyes. "You took me for an easy mark, the lonely man at the Louvre with the fat bank account and no one to spoil. You're astonishing." He turned away with a disgusted noise, then paused, pivoting back to her. "I should thank you, though."

"For what?" she asked, confused.

"Reminding me what manipulation actually looks like," he replied, then shook his head. "Best of luck, Reinette."

He turned again, walking quickly back to his hotel to pack up his meager belongings. Within an hour, he was back in his car and heading for Calais and, eventually, London. As he drove, the conversation with his mother ran through a filter of rationality in his mind, and he got more irritated with himself and Sylvia as the kilometers rolled by.

Rose had been clearly self-reliant from the start, and he just couldn't see her faking that flash of anger if she was trying to manipulate him into staying. His initial defense of not having had time to discuss it still made sense; there was also the possibility that, given the surprise that seemed to have her near tears both times he'd said he'd stay, she's simply been terrified he'd say no if she asked again.

In either scenario, it was clearly not a case of manipulation, at least not on Rose's part. What Sylvia got out of it was anyone's guess, other than her patented inability to realize the effect of her words on anyone ever. And James couldn't simply leave Rose high and dry because things weren't happening the way either of them had planned-she _had_ interviewed plenty of people, most of them terrible, and it had left her stressed the whole time he'd been there. If he really wanted to give her a break, like he'd said, he wouldn't be leaving her so uncertain from week to week that she'd be deserted.

_One month_, he told himself as he pulled up to his mother's house hours later. He'd give Rose a month before he brought it up again. Time to breathe before she needed to start interviewing again. And then she _had _to find someone else, obviously, because he couldn't stay forever...but he could stay for a month.


End file.
